Tripping into Love
by eTara
Summary: Owen, Cristina but also appearances of the rest of the cast. Now rated "M'. Potentially spoilerish, based on a vague "spoiler" which may not pan out. Story written between episodes 5.10 and 5.11, but is set a few weeks after The Vent.
1. Chapter 1: Meeting in the Hallway

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.** And while in this story Cristina does not consider herself a Flobots fan, I most certainly am one.

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Cristina's mood just prior to finding Owen with his arms around another woman was apparent because her lips were moving as she mouthed the words to a song. She wasn't what she would consider a Flobot's fan, but she had one of their songs stuck in her head, and she was moving through the halls of the hospital with a spring in her step.

_Look at me/ Look at me/ Driving and I won't stop/ And it feels so good to be/ Alive and on top_

Cristina wanted to sing out loud, but she didn't want to draw attention to her happiness. Joy felt like this. Joy was wonderful. And then she saw him, and maybe she wasn't so joyful anymore. Maybe she wanted to cry a little bit in that moment, where his eyes met hers and his arms immediately dropped to his sides and he stepped back. And the woman looked over her shoulder, to see what had changed.

Crisitina didn't run. She couldn't run. She could gouge his eyes out in this moment if he dared say the wrong thing, but she couldn't run. The Flobots didn't stop, but her lips did. The words in her head were gaining volume, crowding out her thoughts.

_My reach is global/ My tower secure/ My cause is noble/ My power is pure_

"Cristina, I can explain," Owen said, moving toward her. The music in her head was acting like a defense mechanism, drowning everything else out.

She was able to catch what the woman said, though. The woman looked at Owen with very sad eyes and said, "I can't believe that we were going to get married, and that you ended it, by email, and now all I am is something you have to explain to another woman."

All Cristina could do was look back and forth between them, finally letting her eyes rest on Owen before nodding. "Hello, Dr. Hunt."

"Cristina," he started, but she was already backing up.

Cristina turned and walked away, quickly but taking care not to run or jog. Taking care not to flee, or at least make it look like she wasn't fleeing. She ducked into an unoccupied exam room, hoping no one had noticed her react like this. What was she doing? This was exactly why she told Meredith she didn't want to get involved with another attending. And least she and Owen had the good sense to keep their relationship quiet. Some relationship. She was so stupid. For a smart person she was so stupid.

_I can hand out a million vaccinations/ Or let'em all die in exasperation/ Have'em all healed of their lacerations/ Have'em all killed by assassination/ I can make anybody go to prison/Just because I don't like'em and_

"Cristina." He had followed her. He looked hurt. How dare _he_ look hurt?

"No," she said. "No, you don't get to do this. You don't get to do this to me." She sat down, for fear that her knees would give out. She was so angry with him, all at once, all of a sudden. So andgry and it was inexplicable, because she didn't know anything about the situation.

"Crisitna, it's over. It's been over, I didn't marry her. And then time passed and I chose you." He sat next to her, so close. "I chose you and I don't want you to use this as an excuse not to choose me."

"Don't put this on me," she hissed, making an effort not to make eye contact with him. Not to disappear in that sea of blue. "I didn't do this. Don't you put this on me."

Owen shook his head. "I'm not putting anything on you. It's on you because that's how it works. I didn't give you the choice, the choice is just yours. I can't give it or take it away. It's just yours. I just don't want you to use this as an excuse to—"

She cut him off, daring a look at his face. "Email?"

Owen closed his eyes, drawing a hand over his face. And she just knew.

"How long ago?" She asked, abandoning the prior question.

"I don't know, a few months."

They sat in silence for a moment, his thigh against hers as they sat, side-by-side. But unlike their other interactions, he wasn't providing much comfort this time. He looked like he was thinking about maybe not saying anything, about surrendering a fight he didn't want to lose. But he did speak, finally, his voice quiet but controlled. "Look, this is up to you. I made my choice, I made my choice with her and then I made my choice with you. And maybe something came back to bite me in the ass but I didn't change my mind. I didn't stop choosing you, or needing you."

Her breath caught in her throat, because he'd never admitted to needing her before. Had denied it before. When had their simple fling gotten complicated? When did she start needing him? Needing him to make her laugh? Needing to drop by the ER just to catch a glimpse of him.

"Nothing is different right now, Cristina. You just know more about before. And if you decide that you don't want to work at this, then that's fine. But that is on you. Because I'm here,a nd I'm not going to pull away. If you want me gone you're going to have to push."

Cristina looked at the wall, looked at the ceiling, looked at her hands in her lap. She looked anywhere but at him, her expression stony and unchanged. His pager went off, and he looked at the display, looking like he wanted to choke someone. "I have to go."

"Go," Cristina said as Meredith appeared in the doorway.

Meredith watched Hunt leave with some interest. He glanced her way as he brushed past, his mouth set in a grim line.

_I can do anything with no permission/ I have it all under my command_

"Cristina?" Meredith asked, glancing back over her shoulder to watch Hunt leave. Cristina looked up at her, tired and defeated. Meredith had come to tell her about Izzie, to tell her that George was right, something is wrong with Izzie, but seeing her friend, her person, sitting alone and shell-shocked made her hold her tongue. Now was their chance, to get it back. If she told Cristina about Izzie, Cristina would have an excuse to avoid this conversation. And if Cristina had any more time to process whatever she's dealing with, she'd put her guard up, and process everything from behind a wall.

Meredith sat down next to Cristina. The chair was warm, which made her realize Dr. Hunt must have been sitting here, next to Cristina. Was she sick, too? What was going on? What would Cristina and Dr. Hunt have to talk about, huddled up together in an exam room.

Cristina still hadn't said anything. She was bent over now, looking at the floor, her hands clenching and unclenching into and out of little fists. Derek had once told Meredith that he liked her "ineffectual little fists". Where had that Meredith gone? Where had the fight gone? And where had Cristina gone?

"So... you and Dr. Hunt?" Meredith asked.

"So me and Dr. Hunt," Cristina said, her confirmation barely above a whisper.

Meredith wanted to smile, wanted to hear about everything she had missed. Wanted to close the door and gab like best friends. Wanted to pull Cristina to her feet and take her jogging so that, exhausted, they could collapse in the grass and stare up at the trees. She had missed that connection. But Cristina still wasn't talking.

"So... not a stupid nothing?"

Cristina pursed her lips, rested her elbows on her knees and shook her head. "_So _not a stupid nothing." She put emphasis on the word 'so', drawing it out to twice its usual length.

They sat in silence for a minute, before Cristina said, "His fiancee is down the hall. Ex-fiancee. Whatever."

Meredith was quiet, sensing this was not the time to speak. After a moment Cristina continued. "I was so worried that Burke was it, the love of my life. And then for while I wasn't," Meredith's heart jumped wildly, hearing Cristina's words. She ached for her friend, ached for the missed opportunity to be there for Cristina's love story, on the sidelines cheering her on. But the rift between them had kept her out. "I wasn't worried because this was so different, and so much better. And I felt so free. Not trapped or scared. No, that's a lie, I'm scared because he is Burke. He was going to marry someone, and then he walked away. And all I can be is grateful that he did, because I want this so--" Cristina broke off the sentence, choking on her own words.

Meredith reached out and put her arm around Cristina, who didn't have the energy to bristle. "You know this--" Cristina started a wary objection to the physical gesture, but Meredith stopped her.

"Shut up," Meredith said, resting her head on Cristina's shoulder. "I'm your person. And this is our story too, Cristina. And it's a big story, without stupid boys and stupid boy penises. This is our love story, and I don't want to miss anymore of it. You're my sister and I can't do this without you."

Cristina leaned into the hug, mollified. "You can't just leave someone like that. You can't just make someone put on a white gown and leave them at the altar. You just do that!"

"Cristina?" Meredith asked quietly, incredulous. Because what were the odds?

Cristina realized her mistake. "Crap. I meant email. He broke up with her by email."


	2. Chapter 2: Girls' Night

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story. **Thank you everyone who has taken the time to offer advice or review the story.

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Even the ambitious get to take a break to wallow in self-pity sometimes, and Cristina decided that this was one of those times. And there was no better place to wallow in self-pity than Joe's Bar.

The table was supporting her at this point. She was probably putting too much weight on it in her leaning. It was probably going to fall over, crash to the floor in a mess of liquid and broken glass. Their drinks shattered into tiny little pieces littering the floor.

To her credit, Meredith was being a good friend, and was just as drunk as Cristina was. Callie was the only one among them that seemed to have her wits about her. Derek would drive Mere home, but Callie must have sensed she'd practically have to carry Cristina home.

Cristina hiccupped. The hiccup surprised her, and she jumped a little, her eyes opening wide. Now that Cristina was more awake than asleep, Meredith found her opening. "Well I think this is a blessing in…I mean, it could be good, even if it looks…what's that expression? A blessing in surprise?" She was slurring her words, her arm swaying slightly from side to side as she brought her drink to her lips. "I think this is a blessing in surprise."

Cristina cocked her head, looking at Meredith at her through squinted eyes. Callie, barely paying attention, said, "Disguise."

Meredith nodded in appreciation, pointing a finger at Callie. "Yes!" she said, her shoulders lurching forward as if the motion of her hand was dragging her body forward with it. "A disguised blessing. It's good, I mean it's bad, it's really bad—but the end is good."

"In disguise," Callie corrected. "A blessing in disguise." Her heart wasn't in the conversation. She was distracted lately, because something was different about Mark Sloane. He was acting strange. They used to be able to talk about anything, but he wasn't talking, lately. He was still listening, but he wasn't talking.

"It's so bad," Meredith said again, sighing and resting her elbow on the table, bringing up her fist to support her head.

"It's not that bad," Callie said. Who didn't have an ex? It wasn't that bad.

"Of course it's that bad. He's been sleeping with her and he didn't even bother to tell her he's married!"

Cristina sighed. "That's you, Mere. And I didn't tell you we were sleeping together, I never said that."

"I meant engaged. He didn't tell her he's engaged!"

Callie shook her head. "He's not engaged, he _was_ engaged."

"Why are you taking his side?" Meredith asked, pointing her finger at Callie. She used the hand holding up her face to point, so that when she moved her arm her head flopped to one side before she was able to catch it. "You're taking his side!"

"No, I'm not. It's a fact. I can't take sides about a fact."

Cristina, just catching up to the conversation, demanded of Meredith, "How could this _possibly_ be good?"

Meredith swallowed. "It's an opportunity. It's never a good time to bring up exes that totally screwed you up. You can't just bring that stuff up out of the blue without looking like you still have a thing for your ex. But now you can talk about Burke, and tell him the truth about it."

"What do you mean the truth? I'm not lying about it."

"You are withholding important information."

"You said it yourself," Cristina said, "There's no reason to bring up exes."

"Then what are we upset about?" Callie asked. There was something wrong with these women.

Meredith nodded exaggeratedly. "She has a point. What's the word for that?"

Cristina just stared at her blankly. Callie raised one eyebrow.

"The word where you get mad at someone else for something you did?"

"Projection?" Cristina asked.

"No. When you both do it. When you think someone else is wrong about something, but really you do the same thing. Like you're mad Hunt had a fiancée up until a little while ago, put you had a fiancée up until a little while ago. What's the word for that?"

"Hypocrite?" Callie supplied.

Meredith winced a little. "Is there a nicer word for it?"

Cristina, not liking the direction of their conversation, steered it off course. "If Derek is McDreamy, and Sloane is McSteamy…"

"McGinger," Callie supplied.

Meredith shook her head again, long hair swinging back and forth. "McArmy."

Cristina bit her lip. "McHot."

Meredith shook her head. "McHott_ie_."

This was the one topic all three could embrace, and their voices became a jumble. McBadass. McManly. McPushy. McSexy. McComely. McMacho. The suggestions stopped when Cristina offered, "McPig," as it seemed clear she wasn't referring to the skills lab and her mood was quickly plummeting again.

A moment passed between them with no one, neither Callie nor Meredith, knowing what to say that would not be taken badly by Cristina. But the silence didn't last. Meredith cleared her throat, nearly croaking, "McHere."

Cristina and Callie looked at her, two faces of puzzlement.

"McHere, over there. With Derek."

Cristina swung her head to look toward the door just in time for her eyes to meet Owen's from across the crowded bar. His face changed, and he looked at her as though she'd just ripped out his heart and he was really a little bit devastated by it. The fog the alcohol had provided Cristina, sheltering the emotions of the day, dissipated. She tried not to react to the haunted look in his eyes. Because she was certain that his face just over-reacted sometimes. The way he looked so smitten on the steps to her apartment. The way he looked so playful and promising as they stood over the vent. His face and his eyes told stories she didn't want to trust anymore.


	3. Chapter 3: Boys' Night

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story. **Thank you everyone who has taken the time to offer advice or review the story.

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Owen was walking by the elevator on his way out of the building when the doors opened. He looked, hoping to see Cristina Yang, but instead got an eyeful of Derek Shepherd. "Oh, Hello Dr. Hunt," Derek said, exiting the elevator.

Owen nodded. "Dr. Shepherd. You headed home, too?"

"Derek. Well, my girlfriend abandoned me for girl's night so I was going to head across the street for a drink."

Owen nodded, falling into step next to Derek. "I'd tell you to call me Owen but honestly most everyone calls me Hunt. Either works, though. The girlfriend is Meredith Grey, right? You're seeing Dr. Grey?"

Derek glanced over at him, sensing the man's hesitation. He had seen Hunt talking to Derek's patient's daughter in the hall, seen them embrace. He'd looked uncomfortable and a little shell-shocked when the woman had hugged him, and his negative reaction to the embrace became more pronounced when Cristina Yang appeared.

"Why don't you come with me, across the street?"

Owen looked up in surprise. This entire hospital was a relationship breeding ground. Friends. Lovers. Couldn't a man just work a shift and go home? But he didn't want to go home, not tonight. He needed someone to talk to. And he couldn't talk to Cristina. She was masterfully avoiding him. Owen put his hands in his pockets, then nodded, grateful and touched.

As they exited the hallway Derek talked. He talked about coming to Seattle Grace not that long ago. Coming from New York, adjusting to the lifestyle. He asked questions of Owen, and Owen found himself relaxing with each step that brought them closer to the bar.

"I couldn't help but notice you and Cristina today." Owen felt himself smiling. The man didn't waste time, they hadn't even gotten to the bar and he was already fishing for information.

"She's upset with me."

"Personal or professional?"

"Personal."

"They're hard women, Cristina and Meredith. They're hard women to get to know. They're hard women to do right by. They expect a lot. Sometimes they expect things that aren't reasonable."

"She's being unreasonable. The whole thing is ridiculous. She's ducking into stairwells to avoid me, refusing to discuss anything. She's acting like a child."

Derek laughed. "Well, if that's what you're going to say to her, let me know. I'd like advance tickets."

Owen shook his head and pulled open the door. The warmth of the bar was like an embrace. He hadn't realized how cold it was outside until it was over, and they were protected against the wind. "I just want an opportunity to talk it through with her. The woman is exasperating."

Derek nodded, motioned toward one of the tables with at the back of the bar with his chin. "Looks like you'll have your chance."

Owen followed his gaze and saw her. She'd pulled her hair back, away from her face. She'd changed from her scrubs into a pale green sweater. She saw him, and for a second looked unsure. But she nodded at him, a silent greeting. He was inexplicably relieved by this simple gesture of acknowledgement. That was a step forward. He realized then that Cristina hadn't mentioned any planned girl's nights, and it was probably an impromptu occasion, as response to what happened earlier. He had real hope then, hope that Cristina had opened up to Grey and Torres, who sat at the table with her, had been willing to talk to someone about the relationship that was forming between them. But the same hope had him scared shitless.

After an extended pause in the doorway, when it became obvious to Derek that that Owen's feet were stuck in place, he looked at him questioningly.

"Hunt?"

"Maybe we should go somewhere else," Owen said. "It's girls' night. She's upset."

Derek leaned into him, a verbal push absent of any real force, he quietly said, "This is one of those moments that count. She's going to remember this moment. You need to make the right decision, here. You want to go, we'll go. But this woman…I know this woman. I don't recommend walking away."

Owen nodded, and they moved forward into the bar. It was a busy night, a loud night, and as they got closer Cristina's face softened. Torres was standing to leave, leaning over and saying something to Cristina as she slipped on her coat. Cristina nodded, acknowledging Torres, but her eyes didn't leave his.

"Hello. Goodbye." Torres said to both men as she forced a smile. The situation was making them all uncomfortable.

Meredith scooted her chair over, closer to Cristina. Derek picked up her coat, and her bag. He put a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, and rubbed. "Come on, let's go home. Hunt will make sure Cristina gets home."

Neither Cristina nor Owen said anything, barely aware there was even a conversation going on. Meredith scowled, her head falling back to rest on Derek's shoulder. "You're manipulating me. You're trying to be bossy without being bossy, and you're manipulating me with touching."

Derek kissed her gently on the temple, taking a moment to smell her hair. She smelled like she always smelled, and he took great comfort in that. "Come on home. Let's let these two talk."

Meredith leaned forward. "Will you be okay here?" she eyed Hunt warily. "With him?" Cristina nodded, so Meredith stood. She looked at Owen, kindness in her gaze this time, and put a hand on Cristina's arm. "I know I said Callie was taking sides, but you have to think she's right here. She's looking out for you, too."

Cristina nodded again. "I'll be okay, Mere. Just get some rest."

Derek slipped an arm around Meredith's waist, holding her tightly against his side, as he turned and offered his hand to Owen. "Another time."

Owen nodded agreeably, shaking Derek's hand and reaching his other arm up to pat Derek on the shoulder. "Thanks. Another time."

When they were gone, Cristina reached for her drink and took another swallow as Owen positioned himself in the chair Meredith left vacant. "Did you tell him about us?" Cristina asked, more curious than accusing.

Owen shook his head. "No, I think he guessed. I think the undeniable chemistry between us is most evident when you're eyes are shooting daggers at me." His tone was light, keeping his words from sounding like an accusation.

For her part Cristina was too distracted by the way his knee was resting between hers. The heat from his body intoxicated her. There had to be upwards of thirty people in the bar but he was all she could see. She was drawn to him. She noticed herself leaning forward, toward him, and she felt weak and exposed for doing it. Sensing weakness in herself, she pulled back, away from him. She leaned against the back of her chair.

"So you're still sitting here, with me. Does this mean we can talk about this?"

She cocked her head to look at him, studying him. "There are people from the hospital all over this place. If we're going to follow your stupid rule about keeping this a secret we should talk somewhere more private. And we're going to be the talk of the hospital tomorrow if you don't push your chair back."

Owen didn't move his chair back, instead he leaned in closer, his eyes watching her reaction as he said, "I didn't know you thought the rule was stupid. I actually didn't know it was my rule, and not our rule. I didn't know it bothered you."

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that no, she did not mean it like that. It had been an unfair and unfortunate choice of words. And she was big enough that she could apologize for poor word choice. She appreciated keeping their relationship under wraps, particularly appreciated it now that the future was so uncertain.

She opened her mouth to protest but he didn't waste a moment. He had deliberately misunderstood her, and when she opened her mouth to speak he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her. She lips parted in protest, but the alcohol in her blood mixed with his heat, debilitating her. All she could do was kiss him back, grateful for the contact, and the comfort, and the familiar taste of him. As he kissed her he brought a hand up, caressing her face with the backs of his fingers, running his thumb along the line of her jaw. It was a short kiss, just a taste, but her heart was pounding in her chest when it was over. Because of what it meant.

"I didn't mean it like that," She protested, and used the hand she'd unconsciously flattened against his chest during their kiss to push him back. She shook her head. "I didn't mean I wanted to announce this to the world."

Owen smiled, put his hand over hers and held it. "I'm sorry," he said, not even bothering to apologetic. He looked playful, the most expressive blue eyes she'd ever seen dancing with humor. He was proud of himself. "You should have been more clear."

Her own smile was hard to push away. She let him keep his hold on her hand, let him bring her palm to his lips to kiss. She was mesmerised by the look in those blue eyes, but she worked on keeping her emotions in check.

"We should go," Cristina said. "We can talk, but we should go. "


	4. Chapter 4: His Place, Part I

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story. **

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_Attention Readers: Sorry this took so long to post, I actually am not as happy with this chapter, but hopefully I can get Owen and Cristina back in character for the next chapter. Thank you everyone who has taken the time to review, I really appreciate all of your input and comments. _

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When Cristina stood up to follow Owen out, she had swayed slightly, the alcohol's effects causing a moment of dizziness. Owen slid his hand under her jacket and pressed it against the small of her back, guiding her, providing stability and something to lean against when the world spun too fast.

She wondered, as she leaned slightly into the warmth of his hand, if it would always be like this. If she would always be so charmed by these gentle physical gestures. The day he snuck up behind her to tie her yellow cover up, his fingers brushing against the back of her neck as they waited for an ambulance to arrive. He seemed to specialize in little tender moments almost without thinking about it, and it charmed her. If she had been less distracted by the way heat from his hand electrified every nerve in her body, she might have stopped to question when she started to wonder about "always" feeling this, or any way, around him.

They'd been quietly seeing each other for weeks now, ever since the day the solo-surgery was taken away from her. When she'd been forced to choose among her colleagues and she'd given it to Karev—Karev! He'd helped her through that nightmare, helped her clear her head, kissed her senseless. And they'd quietly started seeing each other. Usually there was food. It made the uneasiness bearable, to have food as a purpose when neither of them could admit, at least verbally, that the only thing that mattered was the closeness.

They found that that take out was easiest, taken to his place-- or hers if Callie was out. Less chance of being caught. She was cultivating a collection of memories that, while they didn't make up for him being absent from her bed at night, at least gave her a sweet distraction before sleep.

Over the weeks they'd sat together on his couch, each of them holding a bowl of cereal in their laps as they watched television. It was always a crapshoot, finding a show to watch. Neither of them were home enough to regularly watch anything, so usually they ended up on cable news, neither of them watching and talking about other things.

When they had time to spend together she peppered him with questions of his surgical residency, his trauma fellowship. She found that she could listen to him talk about anything. And he could talk about anything, be funny and engaging about even the most mundane subjects… The way the field of general surgery was changing. The way across the country, most staff surgeons were unhappy with the changes that followed on the heels of the 80-hour workweek restrictions for residents. Good old boys who'd worked over 100 hours a week during their residencies and weren't satisfied with having to work their own clinics while todays residents lived "the good life" and weren't "paying their dues". She could tell without asking he had no patience for these arguments, but recognized it took a certain number of hours to train a surgeon. Through their conversations, she'd been able to gather how political medicine in the military could be.

Tonight they stopped for take-out on the way to his apartment, choosing not to go to her place for fear of disrupting Callie. And, as they ate Chinese out of take-out boxes (he did surprisingly well with chopsticks), she wondered aloud if he'd saw himself ever competing for Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace. She surprised herself, because it was a question, not a suggestion. She didn't need him to want Chief of Surgery. She didn't need him to be Chief of Surgery. He was enough.

Owen shook his head, finished chewing a mouthful of noodles and said, "I wasn't considering moving into an administrative position. The Chief doesn't have a lot of OR time, and to be honest I like where I am now. I like to work my shift and go home. In the future? Maybe. A lot of civilian hospitals are run by retired military officers. I've thought about eventually running a hospital, yes, and I suppose overseeing a Department of Surgery would be one way to get there. To be honest I didn't expect to be working in Seattle once I got out."

Cristina's ears perked up, and she mentally chastised herself. What did she want him to say? That he'd come to Seattle Grace for her? She didn't want that. "Why not Seattle?"

"Bad market for doctors. Everyone wants to live here, competitive environment drives salaries down. I guess I got out and was reconsidering the offer, I realized a person only needs so much money, so I didn't look into going anywhere else. Plus it was a good offer, because the hospital wanted to regain its classification as a level 1 trauma center," Owen stopped short and turned to her, eyeing her warily. "But this isn't what we're here to talk about."

Cristina set her food container on the coffee table and sat back into the couch, pulling her legs up against her chest, her jeans stretched tight across her knees. Owen was wearing a grey wool sweater and slightly darker grey pants. He looked enticing, if a little bit haggard. She'd tried a couple times to figure out how many hours he was spending at the hospital, without ever directly asking him because he shut her down each time she broached the subject. Her numbers were always too high to be accurate.

"No, it's not," she agreed, leaning her head on her knees and looking over at him.

Owen leaned forward on the couch, looking uncomfortable in his own skin. He rested his elbows on his knees and glanced at her before looking down at his feet again. His socks were black, probably a cashmere blend. She had noticed he liked nice things. Sturdy, quality materials, functional but also stylish/

"Do you have questions? Should I just start talking?" he asked. He looked lost. She wanted to reach out to him, wrap her arms around him.

Cristina let one of her legs drop off the couch, then scooted closer to him, putting a hand on his arm. "Owen--" she started, only her voice caught.

He made a noise. She couldn't describe the noise, a low groan, a sound of aching loneliness. She put a hand to his face and he turned his head toward hers. He turned his body and all of a sudden he was kissing her. She kissed him back, repositioning herself as he moved. He ended up kneeling on the floor, in front of the couch and facing her. He kept his hands from traveling over her body, but she could feel from the passion of his kiss that he wanted more. He was holding back.

But even holding back, he kissed her with such intensity she thought he might devour her if given the okay. He pulled away to look at her face, to see how she was reacting to it. She felt like a whale on dry land and he was the sea, waves lapping at her, giving her just a taste of comfort when what she needed was a tsunami to carry her home. He must have seen it, because he reached for her hair clip and pulled it out, buried his hand in her dark curls and kissed her with a tender fierceness that nearly had her crying uncle. In that moment she might have told them she could care less about the woman in the hospital, that she didn't need to hear about her or anything else if he would just take her to bed already.

She let her other knee drop, so that both her calves were hanging off the couch. Without breaking the kiss Owen wrapped an arm around her waist and inched her forward, closer to the edge the couch. Their hips were almost touching. He was between her thighs and her arms were wrapped around his shoulders. She wanted this, needed this. Now.

"Owen," she said again, a little desperate this time.

Owen pulled away and nodded, breathlessly said, "I know," and rested his forehead against hers.

"Don't stop," she said.

He shook his head. Taking a deep breath he said, "I can't, Cristina. I can't ignore what happened today. I feel like I almost lost you. I feel like I still could lose you."

She wanted to pout. She wanted to throw her body against the couch and roll her eyes. She wanted to grab his hips and pull him into her—see if he could stop _then_, but she didn't. Instead she pulled him to her. She hugged him and said all she could say. "I don't want to be afraid of this."

It was as close as she could get to admitting she was afraid.

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_Love it? Hate it? Wish it was different? Review it_!


	5. Chapter 5: His Place, Part II

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.**

This time the song belongs to The Fray, and the song is called "You Found Me."

**Author note:** _ I am sorry for anyone who is alerted twice to the existence of this chapter, I made some revisions in response to reviews and re-loaded the chapter._

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Owen repositioned himself on the couch, moving into a corner and pulling her with him. She lay against his chest, rested her head on his shoulder and listened to his story. Listened to him talk about the strain four tours in Iraq put on a relationship. Every week another soldier without a family to go home to. "The problem is pretty big among the enlisted guys. Young, good looking guys with young, good looking wives, and vice versa. Even if most of them are faithful back home, and it's hard to imagine this is the case, but even if most of them make it through their spouse's tour without straying there are so many that don't. It affects everyone, seeing that. Because when you don't want to think about war, family is all you can think about. And there are a lot of hours in a day. A lot of time to obsess."

Owen paused, took a deep breath. As he spoke he played with her hair, twirling pieces around his fingers, closing his fingers around a strand every once in awhile and giving a gentle tug that sent electricity through her entire body. She was being unintentionally tortured, his caresses making her ache for him. "But I didn't."

"You trusted her," Cristina argued. Her hand was over his heart, she could feel its steady rhythm through her palm.

"I think I realized that I wasn't really hoping it wouldn't happen, I was hoping it _would_. I wanted an out. Because what was wrong with me, with us, that I couldn't even work up the energy to care about what she was doing back home? And I didn't know how to tell her."

"So you told her by email?"

"I made a mistake. We both did. Because she _was_ unfaithful. Maybe she was. To be honest, I only heard it second hand. I never confronted her. And you know what? It's odd, but I felt guilty. We'd grown apart, but it wasn't all her fault. It wasn't even mostly her fault. And I was so selfish; I couldn't even tell her that. So I emailed her, I told her it wasn't going to work between us." He paused for a breath, obviously struggling with the story. "I'm not trying to give you a reason for what I did. I don't have a reason. All I have is an excuse. I regret how I handled it. I owed her more."

Owen paused, unsure, uncertain. His body was tense, and he was waiting for something to happen. Waiting for her to condemn him, waiting for her to move away from him, tell him she was going home. But she didn't push away, didn't say anything. If anything she relaxed into him more.

Her reaction to his story gave him courage, so he said, "I don't want you to think that if I had it to do over again, I would make a different choice. I regret how I handled it, but I wouldn't change the end result. I'm with you, Cristina. I'm where I want to be."

This statement did something to her, and she cleared her throat. "There's something I have to tell you."

And if Owen thought watching Mark Sloane flirt with her in the OR or on the wards was painful, it was nothing compared to the knife that went into his heart when she spoke next. Cristina's voice was oddly tentative when she said, "During my intern year, I got engaged. It didn't work out, obviously, but there was someone. I just thought you should know. I didn't want you to hear about it from someone else and be surprised."

"It didn't work out how, exactly?" he asked, and he knew his attempt to hide the tenseness in his voice was unsuccessful. "You broke up? What happened?"

"He ended it," she said.

If she hadn't sounded so strange when she said it, he might not have delved any deeper. It was obvious she meant for this part of their conversation to be short-lived, but he couldn't let it drop. "Could you give me a little more here?"

"He…it's…right as…" Her speech came out in fits and bursts until she was able to say, "On the day of the ceremony, he left. He left me in a wedding dress and walked out, just when the ceremony would have started. He just…walked away."

Cristina's entire upper body moved when Owen breathed next. A deep, soul-cleansing breath. "Oh," he said. _Oh._

A moment of silence passed before he could think of what he wanted to say. "But you didn't walk away. You would have said yes. You would have married him." He paused. These were statements. He wasn't asking questions. "You _wanted_ to marry him."

Cristina dragged herself off his chest and turned to look at him. He looked troubled, his brow furrowed. "I thought I did," she said. "I mean, he said I didn't. He said that's why he was leaving, because I didn't want to marry him."

"But you would have."

Cristina nodded. "I would have, yes."

Owen closed his eyes. She could have sworn just before he did that they watered a little bit. Cristina ducked her head into the crook of his neck, wondering how much longer his arm would be around her. She figured she had 30 seconds at most before he found a reason to get up. The seconds ticked away, the silence stretched between them. But he didn't pull away from her. He put both of his arms around her and gathered her closer. And if that didn't shock her enough, he tenderly kissed her on the top of her head. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't until that moment that she realized he must have turned on music when they got to his place. It had probably been playing the whole time, but she was only just regaining some of her senses as time and the meal lessened the effects of the alcohol. The radio station was playing The Fray; as radio stations are want to do lately. She preferred more upbeat music, but the lyrics of a song she must have accidentally heard a hundred times were suddenly mesmerizing to her.

_Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me/Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded/Why'd you have to wait?/Where were you? Where were you?/Just a little late/You found me, you found me_

"I should get you into bed. I can take you home, or you can stay here tonight." He sounded calm, if a little sad. She could tell he was trying to process what she'd told him, and she could tell she was losing him. Meredith was right. There was no good time to bring up your ex. She had mentioned Burke in the best of the worst times, and she had still managed to screw it up. She had screwed it up on a massive level. All but paralyzed, she made no move to get up.

_But in the end/ Everyone ends up alone/Losing hope_

"Cristina?"

But there was something that she could say, to change the situation. Or to change his perception of the situation. His own words came back to her. That was poetic, right? Showing someone they really did reach you, in a moment where they thought their sentiments had been overlooked or dismissed. He'd said the sweetest things to her in the face of her seething rage, and all she had to overcome was his insecurity and his pain.

"I'll stay here," she said. It wasn't what she meant to say. Each second that passed she lost a little more of her nerve, lost the strength to explain. And what did she have to explain? She'd told him the truth, but things were different now. Everyone had exes. She wasn't running around the hospital throwing her arms around Burke. Even if he was here she wouldn't be doing that, so what did she have to explain? What could she _possibly_ have to explain? Her fear was accelerating her thoughts, making her irritable, making it hard to think straight.

_The only one who's ever known/ Who I am, Who I'm not, Who I want to be/ No way to know/ How long she will be next to me_

"Cristina?" Owen leaned forward, and her body slid away from his as he tried to get a better look at her face. He peered into her eyes, his own eyes full of questions. "Your heart is racing. What is it? Are you feeling sick?"

_Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me_

"I choose you," she blurted. It was a stupid thing to say. Why was she so stupid, sometimes?

_Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded/Why'd you have to wait?/ Where were you? Where were you?_

She held his face in her hands, moving her thumbs over the trimmed red hair of his beard she smiled. "I need _you_."

_Just a little late/You found me, you found me_

Owen dropped his face, breathed in a sigh of relief before looking up, his eyes filled with wonder at her. A corner of his mouth turned up in the sexiest grin she'd ever seen.

"Let me get you something to sleep in." Owen stood and moved off into the bedroom. Cristina followed and stood in the doorway in time to see him pulling a neatly folded t-shirt out of a drawer. He moved on to another drawer as she stepped into the room. His bed was neat book lay open on his nightstand, next to a bedside lamp. His bedroom was what she would have imagined. Neat and orderly, but comfortable. Approachable.

"I'll grab you a toothbrush. I buy a few at a time. Traveling habit, I guess." She watched as he disappeared into the bathroom.

As he busied himself, Cristina slipped out of her sweater and tossed it on the floor at her feet, then thought better of it and draped it over a chair as she listened to the water run in the bathroom. She had stepped out of her jeans when he reappeared in the doorway and stopped dead in his tracks, one arm wrapped around a gray t-shirt and a pair of shorts and a toothbrush in his other hand. "What are you doing?"

Cristina stepped over to him, her head tilted to the side as she studied him. "I'm getting changed." She pointed at the clothes arm. "Those are for me, right?"

"I-ah-ih-," he stopped to collect himself. "I'm still in the room." He was making an effort not to look away from her face, but by his reaction she could tell he'd gotten a decent look at the lacey bra and panties, pale blue against her skin. Not waiting for a response, he handed over the clothes. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, leaving her to change.

Cristina pulled the t-shirt over head, only realizing once it was on that it said ARMY across the chest. She pulled the shorts on just as returned, carrying a glass of water. He stopped in the doorway, and she realized the apartment was quiet now, absent its soundtrack.

"I was hoping it would be better but it's so much worse," he said.

Cristina scowled. "Excuse me?"

"The clothes," he said, setting the glass of water down on the empty nightstand. He set the water down on the side of the bed where he obviously didn't sleep. "You look so much sexier wearing my clothes." He pointed to the glass. "Try to drink something before bed, okay?"

Cristina nodded and went into the bathroom with the extra toothbrush. Owen was in bed when she finished cleaning up, all lights off except for the lamp by the bed. She slipped under the covers, taking note of the quality of the sheets. A high thread count, they were soft against her bare legs. Remembering his instructions, she turned to the water and was able to drink half the glass before having to abandon the effort. When she set it back on the nightstand, Owen reached to turn out the light. And when she lay down, he snaked an arm across her middle and pulled her close, cradling her back against his chest.

"Goodnight, Dr. Yang," he said, nuzzling his nose behind her ear and kissing the nape of her neck.

She drew in a shaky breath, aching for more but knowing it wasn't possible tonight. "Goodnight, Dr. Hunt."

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_Don't forget to review! I am sorry for anyone who is alerted twice to the existence of this chapter, I made some revisions in response to reviews and re-loaded the chapter._

Preview: The next chapter will be back at the hospital, and Callie and Mere will be very interested to know what happened overnight. And maybe Owen and Derek will have som stuff to talk about, too :-) I might even try my hand at including George


	6. Chapter 6: The Tiger Lady

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story. **

_Author's note: Sorry if this is a little fluffier than usual __:-)_

_Please read and review, I do like the reviews. They keep me motivated._

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"My new patient is the tiger lady."

Cristina stopped her charting and glanced up at Callie, half of her bottom lip tucked under her teeth. She eyed Callie for a minute, thinking of what to say before she settled on, "Excuse me?"

"My patient, the tiger lady. I was going to tell you when you came home tonight, except then that whole thing happened where you _didn't come home last night_. I thought maybe that might happen tonight, too."

"You didn't go home last night?" Meredith appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, just in time.

"Keep your voice down!" Cristina hissed, closing the chart she'd been working on and sliding it back into place at the nurse's station, walking away from the station and Callie and Meredith. They followed on her heels.

"Oh, come on Cristina, we're all done rounding. You can spare a minute to give us all the juicy details," Meredith said. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail that bounced when she walked. It fit her mood, which was shockingly perky for so early in the morning. "I mean, not that you haven't been doing it for awhile, but now that it's out in the open we want to hear all about everything. And this better not be a relationship without words, there better be words or I will be sorely disappointed."

Cristina stopped and spun on both of them. Meredith nearly toppled into Cristina, but was able to stop herself. Callie stopped short but still bumped into Meredith. She had turned to apologize to Meredith when Cristina said, "_Not_ out in the open. This is _not_ out in the open." Her eyes moved between them before settling on Meredith. The next words she spoke came out in staccato bursts. "If this does get out in the open, Meredith, I swear to you I will cut you. I will turn to you during surgery and I will slice you with a scalpel and then I will pretend it was an accident. I will _ask_ if you're okay but I won't care if you're okay, and then I will announce loudly how sorry I am but I will _not_ be sorry."

Meredith nodded, grinning. "But coffee. We'll still go get coffee. And talk about this."

Cristina pursed her lips. "Fine."

They walked together in a pack and Cristina did her best to give them enough information to shut them up. As they approached the coffee cart she said, "There are no juicy details. We talked. There were words."

Callie scoffed. "Oh, please. You _didn't come home_. You went home with Major Hottie McBadass and nothing happened? There 'were words' and nothing happened?"

Cristina scrunched up her face in consternation. "Fine. There was some cuddling. After we talked, there was some cuddling."

"What did you talk about?" Meredith pressed.

"We talked about the ex-fiancee," Cristina motioned with her hand in the general direction of the hospital where she had seen Owen with his arms around said ex-fiancee, as if she might still be standing in that same spot. "And Burke."

Meredith must not have been expecting this, because she looked like she'd been slapped. "You…told him about Burke? Oh my God, Cristina. Oh my God."

"What?" Cristina looked baffled.

"You said this wasn't a stupid nothing but I didn't think you meant it was this big. How could you not tell me about this? How can you be ready to tell him about something that you don't tell anybody, and I have no idea?"

"Meredith?"

"Seriously, Cristina? _Seriously_? You let it get to this point and you didn't come to me? You didn't tell me?"

"I'll get the coffees," Callie blurted, and promptly disappeared.

"We were fighting. Remember? Secret cutter interns? Solo surgeries? We weren't talking to each other."

"Cristina."

"You told me to tell him about Burke!"

"I give you my opinion all the time. I didn't think you'd actually tell him. I didn't really think you— wait. Just-- Do you love him?" Hurt, Meredith asked the question like it was an accusation.

"_What_?"

"Cristina Yang, are you in love with him?"

"In love with who?" George asked, appearing next to Meredith.

Meredith and Cristina exchanged a look, a silent agreement to put the conversation on hold. The tenseness left their bodies, and Meredith turned to George. "It's nothing. It's stupid. Hey George."

George looked at Meredith, and then he looked at Cristina. And then he looked at Meredith. Everyone was being weird. He couldn't handle anyone else being weird, not when they had to pull together for Izzie.

Cristina half-smiled, a forced gesture. "Hi, George."

Still reeling from the morning's events, it was all she could accomplish. Waking up next to Owen Hunt, finding him already awake. When she'd opened her eyes, at least an before either of them had to be up, she'd found him turned away from her, reading with the help of the bedside lamp. He had sensed she was awake, had looked over his shoulder and turned those blue eyes on her. His body blocked the light, and she couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a haunted look in those blue depths, something dark swimming just below the surface.

He had smiled at her, said, "Good morning, Dr. Yang," and she had melted a little bit. In the moment before his tender greeting she had steeled herself to just ask the questions. _How long have you been awake? Did you even go to sleep? How many hours did you work this week? Last week? The week before that?_ A jumbled list of questions that her suspicious subconscious had been compiling, they were all inside of her ready to spill out from a place she didn't know she'd been storing them. But when he spoke, the lid on the pandora's box of nagging, gut-wrenching concern she hadn't been aware of quietly closed. But now she was aware of it, hiding inside her.

"Cristina?" Callie's tone was sharp, she had obviously been trying to get her attention. Cristina looked up and saw that she was holding a cup of coffee out for her. Meredith and George were discussing Izzie. Something about how she wasn't herself. Was downright 'off'.

"Have you noticed anything?" George asked Callie and Cristina.

Cristina shook her head. Callie bristled. "I don't spend a lot of time contemplating Izzie Stevens."

George looked hurt. "You know, I'm asking because it's pretty clear that something is wrong. We are her friends, and her colleagues, and if we don't look out for each other, who will?"

Only mildly chastened, Callie took a sip of coffee and said, "What does Karev say?"

"Karev says, 'Don't ever talk to me about Izzie again'. But I've seen him watching her. He knows."

"Knows what?" Callie asked.

"I don't know."

"What does Izzie say?" Cristina asked. It wasn't her only question. She didn't know what anyone was talking about. She hadn't noticed anything different about Izzie. Hadn't had much interaction with her recently. Except for the day of the solo-surgery, when she sat down and told Cristina how great the sex was with Alex. That was weird, now that she thought about it.

"Izzie says Izzie's fine." Meredith announced. It was clear Izzie wasn't convincing anyone.

Meredith and George started walking, talking animatedly. Cristina and Callie exchanged a look, making no effort to move or follow them. "They won't notice if we aren't there," Callie said, taking another sip of coffee.

Cristina turned to her. "The tiger lady?"

Callie's eyes widened, she nodded as they turned to walk in another direction. "Got hit by a car, came into the ER this morning, Hunt put in for an ortho consult so I go. When I got the call and I could tell he was pissed because someone dropped the ball, they should have consulted her overnight. ER did x-rays overnight, she broke her knee, been in the ER for hours but a nice lady, in a great mood."

"That's all she broke? Lucky."

"I know, right?" Callie kept going. "Lexie was hanging around with nothing to do so I dragged her along on the consult. So we go talk to the patient, and they didn't have her in a gown yet, I don't know why. But I go in-- and she's a big lady—but I go in and she's wearing this really purple shirt, with these black tiger stripes across it." Callie makes hand motions to indicate where the stripes were, across the chest.

"So there's this big lady in this big tiger t-shirt, right? And she started telling me her story. She was in the cross-walk, saw the car coming, and knew it was going to hit her so she jumped. _Onto the hood of the car_. 'Leaped', she said. She said, 'So I leaped onto the car'. Which is pretty good, right? Kind of instinctual? So I said, 'You leaped onto the car? Like a tiger?', and her eyes light up and she's like, 'yes, exactly. I leaped like a tiger'. And there she was, in this obnoxious tiger shirt, and Lexie just walked out. Just straight up, turned and left the room, face bright red." Callie made a circle around her own face with her index finger. "Bright red."

Callie continued the story, her speech and body animated, obviously enjoying the re-telling. Cristina wasn't even sure if it's the story that's entertaining, or the way Callie is told it, but both ended up laughing. As usual, Callie's facial expressions were the perfect compliment to her words.

"So I left her room just as another woman raced in. And she looked like she just ran a marathon, but she came in like she _won_. And she was holding some clothes. She ran into the room and said, 'I brought you a change of clothes', and you know what she brought?"

Cristina shook her head and laughed. "It's was not a tiger shirt!"

Callie exclaimed, "It was a bright orange tiger shirt. And I had to tell someone, so I found Lexie. I said, 'she leaped onto that car like a friggin' tiger, Lexie, because I could tell she was going to burst. And Lexie turned to me and made a pawing motion with her hand—" Callie replicated the motion for Cristina's benefit, "and said, 'rowwwr'. I have to tell you, before then I didn't think Lexie had a sense of humor. I wasn't sure she had a personality, but she was dying trying not to laugh during the consult."

Callie stopped talking as Derek approached them. Both women turned to look at his approach. "Cristina, good. I was on my way to the ER. Is Dr. Hunt working down there today? I've been trying to get my patient's daughter to understand the surgery her dad needs but she keeps telling me she can't make a decision, she needs to talk to Dr. Hunt."

Cristina nodded, her face falling. Derek, knowing why, thanked her and gave her arm a reassuring tap with the chart he was holding before making his way toward the ER. He made it three steps, turned and said, "I'm sure she just needs to hear everything is okay."

Cristina nodded, looking up at him. "Okay. No, no, it's okay."

Derek nodded, and Cristina turned back to Callie, who was watching her expression for some sign of what she was feeling. The light-hearted mood had dissipated, but Callie sensed Cristina didn't want to talk about Hunt or the ex-fiancee or whether or not they were having hot sweaty sex. She didn't believe for a second they weren't, as the man's body was on hyper-alert whenever Cristina was around. And the way he looked at her. Callie would kill to have someone want her like that. To have someone find her so irresistible that they couldn't keep the evidence of it off their face.

"I better get going," Cristina said, starting off down the hall.

"Maybe lunch?" Callie called.

Cristina turned and nodded. She swallowed and said, "Thanks."

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_R.S.V.P....**Review **s'il vous plait_


	7. Chapter 7: Temporary Insanity

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.**

_Author's note: Please note the rating change from "T" to "M"._

_Please read and review, I do like the reviews. They keep me motivated._

_

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_

_It had been a long day at work, and Owen was grateful when it was over. Grateful that he and Cristina ran into each other on the way out of the hospital and decided to spend another evening together. He'd told her he was sick of take-out, that they should make something together. Cristina had made a joke about her culinary skills, which were non-existent, but his weren't a whole lot better and so she was easy enough to convince. _

_They'd bought a magazine at the grocery store, neither of them having any recipe books. They picked out a recipe together, standing next to the chewing come and other-last-minute purchase items. Convinced themselves it could be done, that two heads better than and they would figure it out together. _

_He was figuring out a lot of things with her, and while he couldn't be sure whether or not she had the same fearful excitement that he had, every once in awhile he would see a flash of something across her face. It looked like pure, unrelenting terror. Succumbing to these feelings, forming these bonds with another person, it seemed to scare both of them in equal measure. And though he knew he was moving at a snail's pace, he had taken some huge risks just within the past week. He moved out of his comfort zone. She'd tried to pull away at the first sign of complications. Where he found the courage to stop her, he didn't know._

_But now, they stood in his kitchen, side by side. An easy silence stretched out between them. She chopped vegetables as he dredged pieces of beef in flour and quickly browned them in a sauté pan. He wasn't completely useless in the kitchen. He could grill, make some of the basics, meat and potatoes. He even owned (and operated) a rice cooker. Prior to this meal he'd never had a reason to purchase fresh thyme, but a man could change. In the end he wasn't sure why they chose stew because they were both famished, and it had to simmer for some time before they would be able to eat. That part, they hadn't thought through very well. But the sampled slices of the loaf of sourdough to dampen the hunger._

_Cristina slid the carrots, potatoes, onions and celery into the simmering pot and turned to Owen. "Ready for the meat anytime," She grinned as she swatted him with a dishtowel and reached for another slice of sourdough._

_Out of the corner of his eye Owen watched her pop herself up onto the counter, her feet dangling above the floor. She'd over straight from work, but brought over a change of comfortable clothes. She'd even agreed to change in the bedroom, and close the door, when she put on her lounging clothes. She must have planned for the possibility that they would leave together, that she wouldn't go home tonight. And because of that planning she now wore navy fleece pants and a fitted white long-sleeved T-Shirt that clung to her in all the right places. Owen ached to touch her. _

_He used tongs to set the beef into the bubbling liquid and placed the cover on the stew pot. In addition to the magazine with the recipe and all of the ingredients, they had to buy the large pot at the grocery store, too._

_Cristina stuffed the last of her bread slice into her mouth and reached for her glass of wine. Finished adding the beef to the stew, Owen lowered the heat on the stovetop and moved over to her, positioning himself in front of her. He slid his palms up her thighs, dug his fingers into the sides of her hips, and pulled her forward. Cristina wrapped her legs around him in response. She put the wine glass down as Owen leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. She tasted of bread and wine and salvation. _

_Cristina opened her lips under the pressure of his and he moved his hands up the sides of her torso and across her back, the heels of his palms ever so briefly feeling a delicious rounding at the curves of her breasts. He finally buried his hands in her hair, gently tugged her head back and exposed the curve of her neck. Owen lowered his mouth and kissed the delicate skin of her neck, and Cristina sighed contentedly. She slid her hands under his sweater and tugged at his T-shirt, un-tucking it from his jeans before she moved her hands over his bare abdomen and chest. She touched him, tried to memorize the shape of him by feel._

_Owen's entire body flushed with heat at her touch and he captured her mouth under his again. He slid his arms down and around her waist, then pulled her off the counter and onto him. She snaked her arms around his neck and clung to him, her thighs tightening around his hips. "I won't drop you," he said huskily. He walked backwards out of the kitchen then turned and carried her into his bedroom. _

"_I won't let you," Cristina said, and she squirmed against him until he groaned in surrender. They toppled onto the bed in a rush of feverish kisses that resulted in a hurried removal of clothing until finally he was inside of her. "Oh!" Cristina gasped, her mouth falling open as she dragged air into her lungs in a ragged breath. She slid her right foot up the back of his left thigh as he took a moment to compose himself. After a moment, she whispered, "I thought we would never have this. I worried you would keep pushing me away physically right up until the end. That we would break up and I'd never have known how you felt, moving inside of me."_

_Owen slid his tongue along the side of her neck, and then tugged gently on her earlobe with his teeth. "Break up?" he asked, his grin apparent in his voice._

_Cristina rolled her eyes, couldn't help but laugh at his teasing and said, "Stop seeing each other. Break up. Whatever you want to call it."_

_Owen's next words were whispered in her ear. "Let's call it a break up. Let's not do it, but let's call it a break up." Another man might have gone on. Another man could have used words like "girlfriend" or "relationship" or "not see other people", but Owen held her close and kissed her and used his body to show her what he was feeling._

_Their hunger for food was replaced with their hunger for each other, and in between the first time they made love and the second, Owen left her side just long enough to turn off the stove. He returned to the bedroom for further explorations of her body until finally they were satisfied and she collapsed on top of him._

_Owen stroked her back gently until her breathing became regular and he could tell she was asleep. He let his head fall back onto the pillow then, and let the darkness in. And for once, if he did dream he didn't remember it. He didn't wake up after only a few fitful hours with images he worked so hard to keep buried resurrected and once again fresh in his mind. A scab he couldn't avoid picking. Sleep had become torture. A basic act that his body needed just to function, he would do anything to be able to get by without it. _

_Not this time. This time when he woke it was because the sunrise was peaking through his curtains, not because his heart was racing or his world was falling apart all over again, over and over again. _

_But he did wake up naked--and cold. They hadn't pulled the covers up, he realized, and as he reached for the down comforter he turned to see if Cristina was cold, or shivering. But she wasn't there. Her clothes were on the floor where they'd tossed them in their haste, bust she was no longer beside him. _

"_Cristina?" Owen said, running the palm of his hand over his face in an effort to clear away the fogginess left behind by—finally-- a good night's sleep. His first good night's sleep in months. There was no answer, so he stood, pulling on his pants as he walked toward the living room. _

"_Cristina?" he called again, turning back to look toward his bathroom. The door was open, but she wasn't inside. He looked at the couch, to see if she had moved there during the night. It was empty. _

_The kitchen was still a disaster, and she was nowhere to be seen. But her shoes were in the entryway; her coat and bag were still hanging next to the door. The wave of panic slammed into him like a Mack truck. He moved back to the bedroom, just to double check, just to make sure. "Cristina."_

_He dashed across to the second bedroom, which he was using as an office. Pushing open the door he knew she wouldn't be there. And she wasn't. She was just gone._

"_Cristina!" he shouted into the empty apartment, his voice harsh against the calm of the morning. The only sound was the mocking sound of his thoughts. 'Yell all you want, you idiot. She's gone. You knew this would happen. She's gone.'_

Owen started awake, his eyes flying open and confronting the now-familiar surroundings of the on-call room. His heart raced. In a panicked daze, he looked at his watch. He had to see her. It was seven o'clock. He'd been asleep twenty minutes.

Cristina wasn't on call and had most likely left for the day, unless her case with Dr. Dixon had gone longer than expected. He prayed that it had, because as stupid as he knew it was, he had to see her. And he already had the list of where he would look. The ER. The OR. And the place with the food.

***

She'd been distracted all day. So distracted that after Callie mentioned she couldn't make lunch, Cristina forgot to eat. So now she was stuck picking up a muffin in the cafeteria so that she could walk the short distance home without passing out and being carried back into the hospital. It was just bad luck that she ran into Izzie, who was on call, because she wasn't in the mood to be sociable.

"What a coincidence," Izzie said, coming up behind her and leaning on the counter where Cristina was contemplating the muffins. Blueberry? How sick was she of blueberry muffins? But banana walnut wasn't appetizing. The apple bran muffins were gone, so she settled on a cranberry orange. She picked it up and glanced sideways at Izzie.

"Hello, Izzie," Cristina said warily. She could hear something in Izzie's voice. She could tell easily enough that Izzie didn't look particularly good. She look tired and worn down, pretty much how they all looked most of the time.

"I heard something interesting today," Izzie said, reaching for a blueberry muffin. Cristina stood, holding her muffin against her chest, waiting for Izzie to continue. Izzie looked hesitant for a moment, but powered on. "One of the ER residents mentioned that she headed across the street to Joe's last night just in time to see Dr. Christina Yang, general surgery resident, and Dr. Owen Hunt, Attending, leaving the bar together."

"I'm fine, how are you?" Cristina said, taking her muffin to the cashier. When they had both paid, Cristina sat down at a table near the windows. She'd meant to eat the muffin as she walked home. But Izzie had her pinned in the conversation. Izzie, who looked like a cat with a mouse, sat down across from Cristina, her eyebrow's raised.

"So?" Cristina asked as Izzie sat down.

"So I told her that you and Dr. Hunt were probably just leaving at the same time. I told her that when Cristina Yang does screw her superiors, it's the Attendings or the teachers that can move her career forward. Because let's be honest, you have a pattern, and your most likely move is to convince Virginia Dixon that you're both lesbians." Izzie stopped for a breath and a piece of her own muffin, then continued. "Unless you've decided to _do_ trauma, it's not likely you'll be _doing_ Dr. Hunt."

Cristina eyed Izzie. Careful not to let her annoyance show on her face, she shoved a piece of muffin into her mouth and chewed, buying some more time to prepare a response. This was all somewhat out of character for Izzie, this meanness for the sake of meanness. Sitting here now, confronted with Izzie's changed behavior, she realized that she'd seen an inkling of this change on the day of the solo-surgery. Izzie had turned to her while they sat around waiting to see who would be getting the surgery, and knowing that Cristina was out of the running, she asked if it was hard for Cristina, because it had to be really hard. It had most certainly been a dig, but Cristina hadn't given it more than a passing thought because she was so wrapped up in the events of the day.

"So tell me, Izzie. Do you think your newfound mean streak is related to your mental breakdown," Cristina popped a piece of muffin into her mouth, "or do you think that the competitive nature of a general surgery residency has altered your personality? I'm liking the change, I think it's interesting, I'm finding you more interesting, but I'm not going to get attached to this new you. Because I think you'll get 'better', and then I'll just end up broken-hearted over the you that never really was."

"You are such an unbelievably selfish, self-centered bitch."

"Two things," Cristina said. There was no reason for her to be doing this. No reason to take out her frustration on Izzie.

And she was frustrated. She was sexually frustrated. She was emotionally frustrated. She was frustrated that Owen's ex was wandering around the hospital, asking to see him. She'd heard from Meredith they'd sat in the cafeteria together for at least half of an hour this afternoon. Meredith had reported that she, (Cristina still didn't know her name), had done most of the talking. It didn't make her feel any better to hear that Owen had alternated between looking uncomfortable and anxious. He'd still sat across from her for at least 30 minutes. And to top it off she now had to deal with Izzie and, as an added bonus, Lexipedia. Lexie Grey annoyingly appeared next to their table as Cristina started speaking, which frustrated Cristina to no end. She couldn't get a freaking muffin without being accosted by people?

"First," Cristina said to Izzie, ignoring Three's presence, "you could have gotten away with just selfish or self-centered, using both is kind of over-kill. Second, you really need to learn how to take a compliment." Abruptly, she turned to Lexie. "_What is it_, Three?"

Lexie jumped slightly, surprised to be addressed. "Well, you told me to put in Mr. Barker's chest tube yesterday."

"I remember. I stood there and watched you do it."

"Well, it's infected. The site is infected."

Cristina wanted to throw a piece of muffin at the idiot but stopped herself. This was a teaching hospital. Anybody could learn, even these people. "That's not because of anything you did, Three. We're in a hospital, there are bugs everywhere. These things happen."

Lexie's mouth dropped open. No one spoke; both Lexie and Izzie were too shocked by Cristina's response to form coherent words in the face of such a charitable response. Reassuring kindness from Dr. Cristina Yang.

"Next?" Cristina demanded when it was clear Lexie wasn't going to move forward without a push.

Lexie nodded, collecting herself. "We should do something."

There was a time when you could kick interns. It happened. It was some years ago, but it happened. And the kickings, the inappropriate physical abuse of surgical underlings, they weren't isolated events. Interns are and were universally annoying and ridiculously scared, which made their annoyingness doubly annoying. She hated that just last year, she had been one of them. But surely, she had not been as bad as these morons. And Three was the bright one.

"Do you know what to do about an infection, Three?" Cristina asked irritably.

Something snapped in Lexie. "You know, I'm not a kid. I went to medical school, I _am_ a doctor. I've been an intern for months and—and I'm not a kid. And I get it, I'm Meredith's little sister and I look young, and-- and kid-like and even the guy I'm sleeping with is embarrassed and doesn't want to tell people we're sleeping together, and you know what? I get it. Intern, bottom of the food chain, I get it. But I'm still a doctor and _yes_, I know what to do about an infection!"

Cristina could feel Izzie's eyes on her face, watching her expression and her reactions for signs of what was coming next. Cristina wasn't sure what it was she was looking for. She didn't ask, just looked up at Lexie. "Dr. Grey, did it by chance occur to you that when I asked if you knew what to do about an infection, you were being invited to present a plan for the patient's care?"

Somehow, Lexie looked even more out of sorts. It took a moment to gather her wits about her before she could offer an answer. She named the type of infection, an antibiotic and a dose.

Cristina nodded. "I agree, but I'm not on call. Dr. Stevens, do you agree with Dr. Grey's plan?"

Izzie nodded. "Good plan."

Cristina looked at Lexie. "Good plan." Lexie nodded, but couldn't quite seem to get it together enough to move.

"Go."

Lexie fled and a moment of silence passed. Izzie smiled smugly and propped her chin in her hands. Cristina shoved the rest of her muffin into her mouth in an effort to ignore the annoying return of Izzie's perkiness, but she couldn't take the smug look on Izzie's face for one more second. "What, dammit?" she demanded over a mouthful of muffin.

"You're getting some. You _are_ hot for Dr. Hunt. His penis is turning you into something that could pass for a human being. You are all smiles and rainbows inside."

"Oh, shut up," Cristina snapped. Izzie smiled. "You know we're here for you, Izzie. Any time you want to talk to someone, I mean, George and Mere, really, but we have to look out for each other." What was she saying? When had she started quoting George? Who was she becoming? She _really_ needed to get laid.

Izzie grinned broadly. "It's our secret," she promised, standing up and walking out of the cafeteria. Walking out together could be explained, but really, what were the chances that no one saw that kiss?

Cristina got up and threw away her muffin wrapper, feeling tired and alone. She turned toward the exit and for a moment all the frustrations of the day left her. Owen Hunt stood in the doorway of the cafeteria, his eyes searching for something. And when his eyes landed on her he approached without hesitation. "Dr. Yang."

Hearing him say her name like that brought her back to this morning, waking up next to him. Heat flooded her body, and if she was a blusher, she would have blushed. Probably, or maybe not. But someone else could have blushed, hearing this man say their name. The thought of working next to him, hearing him say her name like that…hopefully he could start using a different tone because the 'good morning, lover' tone was _really_ distracting.

Owen sighed, looked down at his feet, then back up at her. An awkward moment passed between them, neither of them knowing what to say, or what not to say. In the middle of the hospital cafeteria, a lot was on the 'what not to say' list.

She smiled. "Hi." She said.

He smiled. "Hi." He shook his head. "I don't know why I came here. I hoped I hadn't missed you, I wanted to see you before you left for the night."

Cristina nodded. "I thought about stopping by the ER, since you're on tonight. But then I thought it might be weird."

"As weird as me tracking you down in the cafeteria and having absolutely nothing to say other than 'hi'?"

Cristina shook her head. She smiled. She was doing a lot of smiling in this conversation. "Maybe not that weird."

"You're on call tomorrow," he said. She nodded. "But can I see you Wednesday night?"

She nodded. He nodded. He said, "Okay."

He smiled. She smiled. She decided that they could probably be called bumbling idiots, but even that characterization might be too charitable.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8: The Break Up

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. I also don't own any movies. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

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Owen returned to the on call room and stretched out on the bad, all of the lights out the room was completely dark. He was tried, because he couldn't be anything but tired. He was tired and weary and wanted more than anything to just be okay. He didn't even want to feel great. Just okay would be a relief.

Sleep wouldn't come. He closed his eyes but his thoughts kept going, didn't even bother to slow down. His mind refused the rest he needed. All he could do was think, and so much thinking was exhausting him. And not sleeping was exhausting him.

The knot in his stomach, the result of the dream involving Cristina's disappearance, had not subsided. In the dream, in the moment where he thought she was gone, he realized that anything could have happened to her, that it could be over just like that. It had been in the back of his mind, under the surface, an irrational fear that was encouraging him hold back when it came to what was developing between them. The fear was telling him not to let it happen, because she could be taken away. Or she could choose to walk away. Or any number of other, unforeseeable things. Anything could happen in an instant and it would all be over. Could he handle that, on top of everything else? Did he want to?

Now what occupied his mind were all f the things he could have missed if even one small thing was different. If she had been married when they met. If she hadn't been working the night they met. Would he have felt that same connection, if he hadn't had to "save" her? Would he have been as attracted by her if he hadn't been able to play the hero?

He could have missed everything, so easily. He might not have been there to pick her up off the icy sidewalk and carry her into the hospital, an icicle still lodged in her abdomen. It could have been someone else listening to her proudly talk about the pigs' survival in the skills lab, some other man jealous to see Dr. Sloan flirting with her. He could have missed seeing her stand up for herself as the other residents watched Alex Karev perform the first solo-surgery of her year group. It would have been someone else to comfort her, standing over the vent watching the forced air push those dark curls around her smiling face. Beautiful, unmanagable curls. They could not be contained, spilling around her face and shoulders.

Beautiful, unmanageable woman.

Owen's pager went off, the noise providing sweet relief. He had never appreciated the pager beep the way he did in this moment. Really, he had made it a point not to, because as a trauma surgeon when he was paged it never a good thing. Knife wounds. Gun shots. Each one a small taste of human tragedy. He had chosen this life. Why had he chosen this life? For the greater good? For the excitement? For the chance to put the pieces back together, to fix something broken?

The idea was ridiculous. He had found out the hard way that some wounds couldn't be stitched closed. There will always be failures. He was okay with that once upon a time. He was okay with not being able to save everyone. Some things cannot be saved, it was enough to repair what was salvageable. Before, he understood and accepted that. Before he could move on. But what about now? Now that his was the wound that wouldn't heal? An invisible scar across his soul. The only difference was he didn't get to bleed out. He was the walking dead. He got to get up each day, and live it all over again. And he hated what it turned him into. He hated feeling weak, and out of control. But you can't fall down or fall in love without feeling weak or out of control.

Owen made his way to the nearest restroom. He made it into a stall before, bent over, he threw up into the toilet. The spell was over almost as quickly as it had come upon him, and as he splashed water on his face afterwards, he thought about his grandmother. If she were here, if he'd gotten sick in her bathroom, she would have taken one look at his face and proclaimed him heartsick.

Owen stood and made his way to the ER.

*

"What are you watching?" Callie came out of her bedroom in her pajamas, her hair pulled back into an untidy bun. Cristina froze, a bowl of ice cream in her lap, the spoon halfway to her mouth. Eating ice cream at 11 pm was bad enough, but being caught obsessing over a boy—man—being caught obsessing over a man was humiliating.

"Is that Jarhead? Really? You're watching J--" Callie stopped mid-sentence. "Oh."

"No," Cristina said. "No 'oh'. It just happened to be on, I--"

"You know this is about the Marines, not the Army," Callie interrupted, heaving herself onto the couch with a sigh. "Plus this guy," she pointed at the screen with her foot, "is enlisted, not really the same thing. Kind of a different atmosphere. I mean, yeah, they're all in it together but—"

Cristina gave her a dirty look and changed the channel. Callie smiled.

"It was just on. I just paused as I was flipping though channels," Cristina pointed the remote at the television, pressing arrow keys at random, "See? Just flipping and it was on."

"Of course it was." Callie glanced at Cristina, then turned to the TV, then glanced back at Cristina. "So you're really not—uh—" Callie clicked her tongue twice, which Cristina assumed was Callie-code for sex.

Cristina spooned the now-melting bite into her mouth. "We're really not."

Callie frowned. "I feel weird asking, but, is it because of Burke?"

Cristina looked genuinely surprised to have been asked that. "It's not me! If it were up to me then we'd—um," she paused, then clicked her tongue twice. Callie forced herself not to laugh.

"Have you… tried?" Callie asked, but shrank back into the couch at the glare she got from her roommate.

Living with Cristina was a constant learning experience. There were boundaries everywhere, planted like little landmines where you wouldn't expect them, especially living with another girl. Girls were gabbers. Girls were chatty. At least the girls she grew up with. Cristina, though, she could shut down an entire conversation with one look. But Cristina must have wanted to talk because she turned to Callie and said, "I'm just still getting the 'now is not the time' vibe. That's weird, right? Because usually boys, men, boys and men, well usually there isn't an issue."

"Do you think he has an issue?" Callie asked. "Do you think he can—"

"Stop!" Cristina said. "Stop right there. That's...not a problem. That… seems to work. Casual, you know, observance. Well… that works."

They shared a long moment of silence. It stretched between them like an ocean. The entire conversation was making Callie tense. She wanted to go back to bed, for fear she would say the wrong thing and learn her roommate had secret superpowers and could burn people with lasers that shoot out of her eyes. Callie chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. "The ex?"

Cristina nodded as if she were considering the possibility, but almost immediately said, "No." It came out decisively.

What other answer was there? "Weird," Callie said.

Cristina turned to her. "I _know_, right?"

Callie stretched leg legs out in front of her, pointing her toes in a stretch. "I wouldn't mind watching 'Jarhead'," She said in a conversational tone. Wordlessly, Cristina picked up the remote, plugged in the exact channel and they leaned back into the couch together.

Callie made it through about 20 minutes of the movie before her eyelids started shutting themselves on their own volition and she mumbled, "Gotta go to bed."

It was good timing, because the phone rang shortly after.

"Cristina? It's Owen." He sounded tired.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

She won a smile with that one, and she heard it in his voice when he said, "Hi."

"How's work?" she asked, standing to make her way to her bedroom and laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling trying to picture his face as they talked.

"Not too much going on out this way, been doing a lot of thinking." There was something in his voice that gave her a chill.

"Oh?" And she knew. He wasn't attracted to her. Or her was attracted to her physically, but wasn't attracted to her personality. Or he was attracted to her personality, but physically he wasn't into it. Or he just couldn't stand being around her. He was going to break up with her. Was she really so bad?

"I'm having some issues. Personally. Some stuff that I need to work through."

Do. Not. Cry. "Of course. Yes."

"I should have said all this earlier. I don't want to wait until Wednesday to talk to you."

It hit her suddenly. Their conversation in the cafeteria. He'd been setting a date for them to talk. He wanted to break up with her so he scheduled a break-up date. _Except he couldn't wait until Wednesday to break up with her._ Two days was too long to wait, apparently. Apparently, when a person decided to break up with Cristina Yang, it had to be done immediately. The sooner the better. No time like the present.

"Look, I don't need some big explanation. If you want to break up, I'm okay with that."

"Break up?" He sounded genuinely confused. Which irritated her. He wanted to mince words about whether they're in a relationship while he simultaneously tried to end it?

"Stop seeing each other. Whatever. It's okay."

"Cristina?" His tone was gentle, soft. It was a soothing tone one might use with a hysterical woman or a small child throwing a temper tantrum.

"What?"

"Cristina, I think I did a really bad job with this, I don't want to break up. I'm not trying to break up with you."

A beat of silence passed. "Oh," she said.

"Unless you want to."

"No." She paused. "So what were you—before I ruined it, what were you trying to say?"

He chuckled, a low rumble that warmed her from the inside out. She heard the beeping sound of a pager, and he groaned. "Crap," he said.

She was having none of it. "Real quick, though, what were you going to say?"

He paused, as if considering whether or not to tell her. Or maybe he was considering how best to put it. "I was going to tell you that I want to wake up next to you on Thursday morning, Dr. Yang. If you'll have me."

Cristina smiled. "I'll have you."

"Good," he said. "Now how about Friday morning?"

* * *

_Please remember... Reviews are appreciated, and they keep me motivated to do things like write and post what I've written :-)_


	9. Chapter 9: Second Thoughts

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

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_Author's note: Thank you everyone for reviewing. I appreciate the comments. _

On another note, _I spent a lot of time wondering whether this chapter had any purpose, but decided to post it anyway._

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There was a spring in her step, which made Cristina feel absolutely ridiculous. That she could be acting like such a teenager annoyed her. Only it didn't annoy her enough to bring her mood down enough notches to keep her from smiling like an idiot while rounding on her patients. The only mood dampener came when she walked by Derek's patient's room. Owen was in visiting with his ex and her father, chatting like everything was normal. One would think a situation like that would be uncomfortable, but he didn't look the least bit uncomfortable.

Cristina looked at her watch, wondering what time he'd leave the hospital today. How long was he going to hang out in there? She found herself wishing for someone to be horrifically, traumatically injured sometime in the near future. That was a mood dampener, too. What kind of person hoped for something like that? What Derek's patient never left the hospital? How long before Cristina turned into some sort of psycho angel of death, administering a lethal dose of medication while he slept just so she could stop worrying about when Owen would realize what a mistake he was making, leaving the all-American Barbie to be with her. Although he had left Pollyanna before he met her, but whatever.

The problem was Cristina knew exactly what she was, who she was. And she knew how she was perceived. She was perceived as ambitious (and if she were a man this would be something to be admired), as an ice-queen (but how long before everyone noticed that Owen Hunt could melt her with one glance), as an unfeeling bitch. But that wasn't true. Maybe she could be a bitch, but she felt everything. A person could feel something without talking about it incessantly. And she made efforts to reach out. Herculean efforts. But the results of those efforts were sometimes so slight that they passed unnoticed.

It was going to be a long day. Hopefully, she would be able to get some sleep tonight. She would see Owen tomorrow, and wanted to be able to enjoy it. She wanted to be able to enjoy him. A rush of heat flooded through her body. Would tomorrow night be _the night_? She'd imagined it so many times she worried that the actual experience wouldn't—couldn't—live up to the act. Sex was sex. A basic function. A needed release. Had her "courtship" with Owen been so extended that she allowed herself to build sex up into some magical, life-changing event? It was just sex.

But knowing that, intellectualizing it, didn't change anything. She still ached for him. Still worried about it. What if he just meant he wanted to wake up next to her, without sex? They woke up next to each other yesterday morning, and they didn't have sex. Could she do it again? Could she sleep next to him without attacking him?

Cristina slapped the chart she was holding onto the counter of the deserted nurse's station and started logging the medication changes for some of her patients. When she finished, there was still no one around so she just stood for a minute. She looked down at her shoes. _Stop it,_ she silently told her toes. _Stop thinking about him_. Her own shoes were joined by a familiar pair of brown leather shoes. Three hundred dollar brown leather shoes. She knew how much they were because she had been bored last night, after their phone conversation, and she'd looked up the brand online. Based on the reviews _(she'd read the reviews!)_ they were known for comfort, for durability. When had she become a woman who did internet searches on her boyfriend's shoes? When had she started calling him her boyfriend, at least in the safety of her own thoughts? Was this the first time?

Owen leaned on his elbows up against the nurse's station. He stood close, but far enough away that a casual observer would have no question that they were not touching. It disappointed her. She didn't know how she would react if he'd come up and stood close enough that she could feel the length of his forearm against her own. She found herself wishing she'd had the opportunity to react.

"Good morning, Dr. Yang," Owen said, a smile in his voice. She glanced up at him, looking to see which smile she would find. It was a half-smile, a bemused sort of smile. It was _a let's see if I can get her all worked up just by using that tone_ kind of smile. She should hate that smile. She loved that smile.

Cristina looked up at him. "Dr. Hunt. How's your day?"

"My morning is better than my night was. And as an added bonus I get to leave soon. I'd offer to bring you some take out at dinner time, we could sit and eat together, but since we're still moving under the radar maybe you can just call me later to tell me about your day?"

"Izzie knows. Meredith knows. Some random ER resident knows. Callie knows. Derek knows. We're hardly under the radar."

Owen nodded. "In that case, I could bring salt and pepper chicken." That smile again.

"You think this is funny."

"I think this is a little bit funny. It's been weeks. I don't want to waste energy pretending I don't want to be with you. And I can tell you if one ER resident knows that a bunch of ER residents know. But you know what? Conversations don't stop when I enter the room. Because we're doctors. We're all doctors." As if doctors were more mature than the rest of the population. Seattle Grace would beat that assumption out of him very shortly.

Cristina nodded, kept scribbling in a chart. "I know, I just…I don't know."

"You just don't want your personal life in the hospital. You don't want to be a topic of conversation." Cristina looked up at him, surprised to see him turn her obstinate 'I don't know' into such an accurate truth. They hadn't spent a lot of time talking about this, but he understood her hesitation. He didn't take it personally, because he had the same hesitation. So why did he seem so flippant about letting it get out? Owen glanced at his watch distractedly, then pushed away from the nurse's station. "I'm supposed to meet Dr. Shepherd for coffee, see you later."

She spun around to watch his back as he walked away.

_You're having coffee with Derek, now? _she wanted to call after him, but held her tongue.

He moved purposefully in the hospital, Confidently. As if he didn't have a care in the world. He moved like a man who knew where he was, and knew who he was, and was pleased with both. When they were alone, he didn't act like that man. Was it a character default of hers that she couldn't bring herself to push him into talking about the event that had split his life into two distinct pieces. The event that broke him into the before and the after.

Would a better woman at least make an effort to push the issue, and make him face it? Was the only reason she didn't because if it were her pain, she wouldn't want him poking at her to see where it hurts. Except for the part that she was scared to death that she _would_ want him to push her emotionally. Because if he was waiting for her to reach out and start acting like a girlfriend—_there was that word again_—with at least a basic human level of emotional intelligence, how long did they really have before he packed his bags and ran far, far away?

"What were you and Dr. Hunt talking about?" Alex Karev asked. She hadn't noticed his approach. She could tell he was in one of his moods.

"He had a couple of traumas last night and the patients will be here overnight. I'm on call."

"So you weren't talking about how you're sleeping together?" Cristina added another item to her mental to-do list. _Slap Izzie Stevens_.

"Get lost, Karev."

"No, I have something to say to you," he said.

Cristina eyed him then crossed her arms over her chest. "Well?"

Alex pointed to the supply closet. They moved off wordlessly into the small room. They stood together for a moment, and Alex looked like he was struggling for words. He finally said, "You can't mess this up for me."

"Excuse me?" Cristina asked, taking a step back.

"You can't do this. Dr. Hunt is my best shot at being a decent doctor. He's a good teacher and I respect him. But you… you are going to make him think you breathe air like a normal person. You're going to make him think your heart beats like a normal person. You're going to be all emotionally stunted and he's going to think it's cute. And for awhile, the novelty of dating an ice princess will keep him happy. But he won't _be_ happy," Alex said. He pointed at her, "_You_ can't make _anyone_ happy. You will ruin him, you won't be able to be there for him and when he realizes that, he will be on the next plane out of Seattle. Just like Burke he will leave and you'll have chased away an Attending that this residency program can't afford to lose."

"Are we talking about me and Dr. Hunt or you and Izzie?" Cristina asked, then walked out, pushing past him out the door. As she walked away, she found herself reaching for her pager, desperate to talk to Meredith.

*

"You aren't seriously worried about something Alex said," the disbelief was evident in Meredith's voice as, holding their coffees, they made their way back to the floor.

"I'm not worried, I'm irritated. And…but what if he's right, Mere?" Cristina asked, clearly hoping to be told that Alex Karev was not right.

"He's not right," Meredith said, taking a sip from her cup and wincing. The coffees were scalding hot today. Cristina hadn't even bothered attempting to take a sip. Even with the sleeve, the cup was hot against the skin of her palm.

"What if I drive another Attending away? I'll be like the black widow of the hospital. I date Attendings and they disappear."

"He's not going to disappear. I've been watching him, watching the way he looks at you, since I found out, I mean. Because obviously, you couldn't tell me before. Because we were fighting, or whatever, and you can't tell me about the most important thing to happen to you in the last year if we're fighting."

"Meredith, losing the solo surgery was the most important thing that happened to me in the last year."

"Lie. But anyway, the way he looks at you…he's not going to disappear."

Cristina didn't answer and they walked in silence for some time, until Cristina spotted a slender blond approaching them from down the hallway. She stopped walking and turned to Meredith.

"What is it?" Meredith asked, looking confused.

"Point to your east," Cristina directed.

"What?"

"Point down the hallway to the east. Look over your shoulder and point. Do it now." Meredith turned and pointed her finger. Cristina nodded. "Now say something. Hurry, before she gets to us."

"Cristina, what is going on?"

"Okay, now turn and start walking. Not too quick, but go. Go now. Go, go, go."

Meredith turned and walked to the east. Cristina waited for Meredith to take a few steps before she followed. "Cristina, why are we walking to geriatrics?"

As soon as they were safely into the hall Cristina pulled Meredith into a stairwell. "We're not," she said, pulling Meredith up a flight of stairs. "We're going around."

"But who? Who are we going around?"

"We're going around _her_." Cristina emerged out of the stairwell and resumed their trek across the hospital. "I just needed to look like I was following you so it wouldn't be obvious I was avoiding her."

"The ex?" Meredith guessed, jogging a bit to catch up with Cristina. "Was that her? Have you spoken to her?"

"No," Cristina said. "And I intend to keep it that way."

Meredith grinned at her. "You do realize you're on call tonight, right? Derek says she rarely leaves the hospital."

"You think this is funny."

Meredith shook her head. "Of course I don't. I don't think it's funny at all. I think it's ridiculous. You don't have anything to worry about."

Cristina looked at Meredith. Alex's words came back to her. "Meredith, I have _everything_ to worry about."


	10. Chapter 10: Called In

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

_Author's note: I apologize in advance for any typos or errors. I really just wanted to get this chapter out, as the story is supposed to come to a close by the time the show is back on the air. Please review, I appreciate all the comments._

**

* * *

**

_This isn't happening, _Cristina told herself. _This cannot be happening. I am asleep in the on call room and this is a nightmare. This man is not coding, this woman is not screaming at me, and I am not powerless to do anything._

"Why aren't you helping him?!" the blond screamed. Tears were tracking their way down her cheeks and her voice shook with the tumult of emotions she must be feeling. Cristina stared dumbly at her. _This is a nightmare._ To add to her misery, Alex Karev arrived for the code, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. _He must have switched call with someone_, Cristina thought to herself absentmindedly. Of course he would be here to see this, to witness this scene.

"Do something, you're _killing_ him," Cristina stood right next to Bailey, but the blond didn't yell at Bailey. She looked right at Cristina, as if Cristina had walked into the room and stabbed her father in the chest.

DNR. Do not resuscitate. Didn't people discuss these things anymore? He couldn't have told his daughter about the choice? Couldn't have mentioned it, even? _By the way, honey, you might notice that when I code hours after surgery, the doctors won't do anything. That's on purpose, don't yell at them. I asked them not to when I signed this sheet of paper here._

Bailey explained the DNR, but it fell on deaf ears. Sobbing now, the blond grabbed Cristina's arm. "Please, don't you get it? You can help me. Owen doesn't want me. It's over. You won. You can help us, I'm not a threat. I'm no one. Just help my dad, _please_. Please don't punish him."

_The worst kind of nightmare._ Cristina opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She looked down at where her arm was being held. The woman had a grip like a vice. _I should know her name. Why don't I know her name?_

"Your dad signed a DNR." Bailey said, prying the woman's hands away from Cristina.

"Help him you selfish bitch!" At this point you couldn't hold her responsible for what she said, she was worked up into a frenzy. They should have gotten her out of the room immediately, but it's not like the code team needed room to work. Every eye in the room swung to Cristina.

Bailey held the woman hands, squeezed them comfortingly as she tried to get the blond to make eye contact. "Dr. Yang cannot do anything. She is not punishing you. She literally cannot do anything. Your dad made his wishes very clear."

The blond snatched her hands back and staggered backwards, into her father's bed. She turned around, tears streaming down her face. "Get out. Get her out of here!" She was a beautiful woman. Tall and lean, hair falling in soft waves just below her shoulders, pale blue eyes like ice over a shallow lake. She had to be at least 5'8". She was stunning, even like this, with red-rimmed, puffy eyes.

"Dr. Yang, I've got this covered." Miranda Bailey moved toward the woman.

"Dr. Bailey?"

"You heard me, Dr. Yang. Go on. Now."

As Cristina left the room, it suddenly hit her that Bailey knew. She had found out about Cristina and Owen.

Cristina made her way back to the on call room and sat down on the bed, drawing her legs up to her chest and burying her face in her knees. Even if he hadn't signed the DNR, so few people come back from a code. Even if they'd got him breathing again, got his heart beating again, his body was giving up. He knew that, when he came into the hospital and discussed his options with his doctors. All of his options.

She didn't know how long she sat like that before the door to the on call room opened. "Yang." Bailey said. She sounded tired. She shut the door but turned on the light, sitting next to Cristina. "You girls. I've never seen two girls cause so much trouble."

"He was DNR, I didn't—" Cristina started to say.

Bailey stopped her with a look. "I am talking about Dr. Hunt. I am talking about you and Dr. Hunt."

Cristina put her legs down and shook her head, unclear what to say. "It's not like she said, they broke up before he came to Seattle Grace."

"And then her dad got sick and they came to this hospital. Now I agree, that's just bad luck but you—I don't even know what to say anymore. Because of all people, Yang, you should know what happens when you become romantically involved with a coworker. No, worse than a coworker, _an Attending_. Your _boss_."

Cristina opened her mouth to speak but again couldn't find a single word she was able to form. Bailey just shook her head, and stood. "Dr. Hunt is on his way in."

Cristina looked up in surprise. "You called him?"

"No."

"She called him?"

"No, Yang. _Karev_ called him."

It was like a slap in the face. Alex Karev had called Owen to swoop in and be the savior, to comfort this woman in her time of need. He probably hoped that he could push the two of them together to keep him away from Cristina. Because it would be impossible for him to mind his own damn business.

"Karev called him for her?" Cristina shook her head. Of all the shit things to do to someone. She should have seen it coming.

"No, Yang, Karev called him for you, because of what she said to you in that room. Dr. Hunt isn't coming here for her, Yang. And you'll see him after I see him, because I will be downstairs watching the doors. And when I have said what I need to say, I will let him know where to find you."

Cristina winced as the door to the on call room slammed shut behind Bailey. She fell back onto the bed, suddenly exhausted.

*

Twenty minutes later Miranda Bailey's stake-out near the hospital entrance paid off. She'd been sitting there with a pile of charts, waiting to catch sight of the tell-tale red hair on Dr. Owen Hunt.

He came in wearing jeans, a black T-shirt and that beat-up green jacket he seemed to live in. "Dr. Hunt, may I have a word with you?" Bailey said, jumping to her feet. She had to move quickly as Dr. Hunt rushed toward the elevator like a fireman rushing into a burning building. He looked exhausted, and she wondered what Karev had told him because the man looked pained.

"Dr. Bailey, this will have to wait I have to—I have to go," he said. He never stopped his progress toward the elevator, even when he spoke to Bailey, who he clearly wasn't interested in dealing with. The elevator slowed him down, and Bailey was able to catch up to him while he waited for it to arrive. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he waited, avoided eye contact with her. As if she would go away if he just ignored her.

The elevator doors opened and he nearly toppled a couple exiting before he took a step back, raising his hands and backing away apologetically. The couple moved out of the elevator and Hunt stepped in, pressing the button. Bailey stepped in behind him.

"May I ask what your hurry is, Dr. Hunt?"

"Dr. Bailey, Dr. Karev paged me. Can this wait?" He asked, not unkindly, as the doors closed on them. Bailey pursued her lips and, just as the elevator started moving, she pulled a button and brought it to a stop. "What do you think you're do—"

"Dr. Hunt, I have something to say and I am sorry to tell you that you are going to listen to it. Because Cristina Yang is my resident. And tonight she was humiliated in front of an entire code team and one of her fellow residents. So with all due respect, sir, I'm going to need a moment of your time."

Owen Hunt caught his breath and turned to the woman next to him. He understood now what he was facing and why. Staring into Dr. Bailey's eyes he recognized a fierce protectiveness that he admired and appreciated, and so he stilled, giving her his full attention.

"Oh, I see, now I've got you," Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "All I have to do is say the name Cristina Yang and suddenly, you're all ears. Well that's good, because I have something to say. What's that you military types say? Do I have permission to speak freely, sir?"

Owen nodded. He didn't want to nod. He wanted to shake his head 'no' and get the hell out of this elevator. But there was only one way out of this elevator and it was through this angry little woman, so he nodded.

She spoke bluntly. "You better get yourself right."

Owen drew his eyebrows together, confused. Time seemed to have slowed, his heart rate slowed. The elevator buzzed, an angry noise in response to its upward progress being thwarted. "Get myself...right?"

"Yes. Get yourself right. Get your head on straight. Know what you're doing. Let other people know what you're doing. Let your _ex-girlfriends_ know what you're doing. Take out an ad in the newspaper, Dr. Hunt, so that we can all know what you're doing and I don't have a hysterical woman accusing my resident of killing her father in front of the entire night staff. Because _that_ is embarrassing, Dr. Hunt. I don't care who you are, that's embarrassing. And I will not have Cristina Yang humiliated by another Attending in this hospital."

Realization hit him like a truck. Another Attending. The failed wedding. A personal humiliation made professional. They had worked together. He found himself needing to throw up again. Bailey, not noticing his reaction to the news, probably not realizing it was news, calmly reached over and pushed the button again. Silence reigned in the elevator, and they resumed their ascent to the floor.

Once they were moving again Bailey said, "I hope that your personal life and/or the personal life of my resident will not spill over into the hospital again."

Owen shook his head. "No. No, They won't, Dr. Bailey."

Bailey nodded. "I'm glad we have an understanding."

Which was a funny thing to say, because Owen Hunt didn't understand a damn thing.

*

Owen found Hannah packing up her father's hospital room. He'd know she was probably on her way out, so he walked there first. Not out of any urgency to see Hannah, but because he knew Cristina would be here. Hannah could leave at any moment, and he didn't want to leave anything undone.

"Hannah," he said from the doorway. She turned, and when she saw him her face crumpled. "I'm so sorry," Owen said.

Hannah nodded and rocked back onto her heels. "I can't believe it. The surgery went well. I mean, I know it was long, I know he was under a long time…and I know he's weak—was weak. I just can't believe this. I can't believe he's gone."

Hannah made no move toward him, and for his part he made no move toward her. He could feel the eyes of some of the floor nurse's on his back, and he hated himself for it. The amount of attention he was drawing, it was clear there must have been one hell of a scene earlier.

"I actually came to check on someone, Hannah, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss."

Hannah nodded, and a tear escaped. Owen's heart went out to her. He'd respected her father, liked him even. He was a good man. It always hurt to lose a good man.

They stood for a moment before Hannah took a deep breath. "You should go," she said. "I'm going. I'm just finishing up here. I—I am so stupid, Owen, I said some really stu—"

"I heard, Hannah, don't apologize. You get to say stupid things today. Today of all days you get to say stupid things."

She nodded, bit her lip, and nodded again. "Everything about us, everything good about us, I don't know how you walked away from that. I don't know how you can stay away from that, from us. We were good."

Owen breathed in, his heart heavy. "I can't do this. Now isn't the time."

"I have permission," she whispered, taking a few steps forward. She still didn't stand anywhere near his reach. He got the feeling that if he made any sudden movements she would dart away, like a skittish cat. "I have permission to say stupid things. So I'm going to say a few things. And if it's a mistake, and you don't want to try, if you don't want us, then it won't be the worst thing that happened today."

"I wish you—" he tried to stop her, to save her from this.

"No. I waited. You went to Iraq so many times. I would have waited through even more, to be Mrs. Owen Hunt. I would have waited even longer." She took a deep breath, wiped her palms on her jeans and continued. "I didn't say a word about it, didn't ask you to get out. Didn't bat an eye any of the times you told me they were sending you, again. Because all of my patience was going to be rewarded. Eventually, you would retire. You would retire, and I would have all of you. For the first time, I would have all of you. And now here you are—out—and you gave that to some other woman."

"Hannah."

"I hate you for that."

"Hannah, don't lie about this. Of all things, don't lie about this."

"I waited for you."

"You didn't wait, Hannah. Neither of us waited. We grew up, grew apart. At the end I couldn't breathe I wanted out so bad. You stopped waiting in a different way."

"I _waited_ for you."

Owen just shook his head. He looked her directly in the eyes. "Look me in the eye and tell me you waited for me. Look me in the eye and say that to me."

She looked stung. "You knew?"

He shook his head. "It was over before that."

She breathed in, wiped tears off of her cheeks and shrugged. "I guess it's a relief. To know why you just gave everything we'd worked so hard for to some other woman."

"That's not why. If it was meant to be, if we were both in it, we could have worked through anything. Any mistake, people can work through. If they really want it bad enough."

"And you didn't." She nodded, threw her head back to look up at the fluorescent lights before bringing her head back up and looking directly at him again. "I hate you for that, too."

Owen gave her a sad smile and left.

*

He found Cristina asleep, though all lights were. She lay, curled up in the fetal position, sleeping soundly. It was 3 am so he couldn't blame her. She looked peaceful, and he felt a surge of emotion as he locked the door and lay down behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against his chest, the lights in the room still on above them. Cristina stirred. She yawned and stretched then, catching sight of her surroundings, said, "Owen?"

He kissed the top of her head, buried his face in her curls and said, "I didn't want to wait. Karev told me what happened. I didn't want to wait to see you, Cristina. I'm sorry, about what happened."

She nodded. "It's nothing. She was reacting. Her dad died right next to her. She just—lashed out"

Owen breathed in the smell of her.

"I don't know her first name," Cristina said after a few moments.

"Her name is Hannah." Owen leaned his head back onto the pillow. "What about yours? What's his name?"

A full minute ticked by. She was obviously considering something. He closed his eyes after the first fifteen seconds. He didn't need an answer now, maybe he wouldn't ever need an answer. He knew better than a lot of people that some things are better left in the past. But then, he knew better than a lot of people that time doesn't heal all wounds. She traced lazy figure eights up and down his forearm as she thought.

"How much do you know?" she finally asked.


	11. Chapter 11: What Happened at Lunch

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

* * *

_Author's note: Thank you everyone for reviewing. I appreciate the comments._

_Also, I'm not really feeling the Alex/Owen scene, but I left it in anyway._

* * *

"His name is Preston Burke. He was an Attending here, the chief cardio-thoracic surgeon. I was an intern. He was my boss. We started dating, we moved in together and then we got engaged." After the first few sentences Cristina relaxed again, letting herself settle into Owen's arms. "He left me at the altar, left the hospital and won the Harper Avery award." She had paused then, and gave a soft but derisive laugh and said, "I didn't win an award."

Owen found himself smiling. He couldn't help but smile at that, at the little bit of snark she allowed to creep into the discussion. A little piece of Cristina. He was grateful for that. Grateful to be reminded why he had rushed here, in the middle of the night, to wrap his arms around her and tell her that even if everything changed around them, he would still be here.

"I'm an Attending," he said, tucking a curl behind her ear.

She breathed, in and then out. The exhale came like a sigh. "Yes," she said, resuming the tracing of the figure eights on his forearm. "Yes, you are."

"I'm your boss," he had said, gently. And it was true. And it was inappropriate. But it was what it was. When she didn't say anything, he said, "Unless I'm not. Unless you don't want me to be."

"How do you figure that?" She asked, her entire body tensing as if bracing for a blow.

"Mercy West. You can't leave your residency, but I could leave." And until he said it, he didn't even know he meant it. He thought that when he'd blown off their recruiting call, he'd laid the matter to rest. "If you asked me to look into it, I would. I'm sure they'd still be willing to offer me a position. Not as department head, they have a very good department head, but that's okay. We would still live in the same city, still see each other."

Crisitna responded softly, but with conviction. "I don't ever want to talk about this again. I didn't go through what I went through tonight so that you could leave and it would all be for nothing. Everyone knows about us now. So what's the good in you leaving me here, alone?"

"Cristina, I—" His pager had gone off before he was able to finish.

"Un-the-fuck-believable," she said, tossing her head back against his chest in frustration. "You're not even on call."

"I'm the head of trauma," Owen said, pulling the page off of his belt and looking at it. "If it's big enough, I'm always on call." He glanced at the display. "Looks big enough."

Cristina rolled over to face him and pressed her lips against his, a fierce but chaste kiss that he found himself deepening, pushing her back down onto the mattress. Her hands pulled at his neck, pulling him closer, fingers moving through his hair, and her touch was soon sending shivers from his scalp to his toes. Her reluctantly put some space between their bodies.

"I want you," he groaned against her lips. "I want you so bad it hurts."

They negotiated a place and time. His place, she couldn't face a discussion with Callie about the events of the night, and 7 pm. This would give her enough time to go home and pack. Once they had a plan Owen stood and dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out his keys.

Cristina looked at him suspiciously. "You're leaving? I thought there was a trauma?"

Owen fiddled with the keys, and wrestled one off the chain he handed it to her. "Here," he said, putting the silver metal key into her palm. "If I get stuck you might get there before me, and I don't want you to wait in the hallway. I'll grab take out on the way home."

Cristina sat up on the bed, an odd look on her face. "I can't take this, what if you get there first? I can't take your key."

Owen, fiddling absentmindedly with his pager, didn't notice the rapid speech or the slightly panicked tone. "That's the spare, I have the other right here." When Owen lost interest in the pager and glanced her way he saw that she looked horrified. Realizing her hesitation, he sat down next to her. "Cristina, just give it back later."

This seemed to calm her some. She eyed the key a little less warily, then nodded. "Okay, yeah. No big deal."

Owen smiled and kissed her cheek, bringing a hand up and running it over her hair, smoothing it away from her face. "No big deal."

*

"He gave you a key?" Meredith hissed, nearly jumping up and down in excitement. In front of the coffee cart "That's huge."

Cristina sighed exaggeratedly. As usual Meredith hadn't heard a word Cristina had said. It wasn't huge. It was small. It was temporary. It was logistics. He hadn't given her a key. He hadn't wanted her to have a key. He hadn't assumed she'd want a key and then thrust it at her. It was simple. She was avoiding being consoled by her roommate, so she was going over to his place instead. He might not be there, so she'd need a way to get in. For the fantastic sex. Against her better judgment Cristina found herself stressing that there would be sex—he all but promised sex-- to get Meredith's mind off the stupid key.

"Sex is nothing, you got a key. You're in a relationship with keys. Are you going to give him your key?"

"No!" Crisitna hissed. "I have a roommate, I can't just go giving out my keys like candy. And this is nothing."

"You wouldn't be freaking out if this was nothing," Meredith said knowingly.

"I'm not freaking out," Crisitna scoffed, "you're freaking out."

But Meredith was as insufferable as a child with a new toy. And she seemed happy, genuinely happy, that Cristina and Owen were taking steps forward. "I'm only freaking out because you told me. You wouldn't have told me if you weren't freaking out, and you wouldn't be freaking out if this was a stupid nothing. Do you think he told Derek he was giving you a key? You know they're friends now. It's like male pattern bonding, next they'll be watching sports on my couch drinking beer with their hands tucked in the front of their pants."

"No, he didn't tell Derek. Because this is nothing."

Meredith shook out her hand, as if to brush off Cristina's denial. "Did he give you a drawer?"

"What?"

"A drawer, at his place. Did he give you a drawer for your clothes? And a shelf in the bathroom, for your soap and stuff?" Cristina looked at Meredith blankly. "He didn't give you a drawer?" Meredith asked, and the idea seemed to take the wind out of her sails. "Maybe it is nothing," she said, frowning as her pager went off. "This guy _again_? I can't get away from this guy, he's been tacacardic all morning!"

She left, and Cristina found herself alone at the coffee cart, suddenly wondering whether she needed a drawer or a shelf in the bathroom. Which was ridiculous, because she didn't even need a key.

*

"Repairs are all done, close him up." Owen said, stepping away from the operating table to allow Alex Karev to step in.

As Karev began to work, Owen said, "I wanted to thank you, Karev. For what you did last night. A woman needs her friends. And I know how this goes," Owen peered over Karev's shoulder as he spoke. He found himself rambling. Exhaustion made his thoughts ramble and now he found himself talking just for the sake of talking. It had been another big night. He and Cristina couldn't seem to stop having these moments, lately. Huge make it or break it moments that left him breathless and invigorated, but also afraid.

Against his better judgment he started to speak again. "There's going to be so much I won't see. Distractions, worries, priorities-- everything gets in the way. Sometimes you get too close to someone to know what they need…to know what's best…to even see what's wrong." Owen shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. Why couldn't he shut up? "So a woman needs her friends. That last stitch was a little tight, ease up on the tension."

Owen reached in to help but stopped himself, reminding himself he was training a surgeon. And the stitch hadn't been too tight. Karev was doing fine. But of course he was fine, he'd been closing incisions forever by now. Owen hadn't quite readjusted to working with residents again, after being in the field. It was hard to give up the control over a patient. Hard to hand over control to someone else in any situation. "So, thank you, Dr. Karev."

Alex Karev looked up at him light a deer caught in headlights. Owen could tell he had something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but Owen wanted his mind on the surgery so he stepped back from the table, pulling off his gloves. "You finish up, and next one of these we get I'll watch you do it, start to finish."

Owen walked out of the room before Karev could say anything else. He stayed close, watching from the scrub sinks, but made sure to leave as soon as Karev was finished closing. Karev could have done more of the surgery. As it was, Owen had done about forty percent of the work. That percentage was too high, especially for such a simple repair. _I really have to ease up_, he thought as he made his way into the hall.

"Dr. Hunt," Dr. Bailey nodded at him in greeting as she passed. He nodded to her and couldn't help but smile as he watched her walk by, all business. Her greeting had been friendly. She wasn't holding a grudge. She had said what needed to be said and had moved on. And she had been there for Cristina.

The last thought made him oddly jealous. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd been here, would she really have ended up engaged to Preston Burke? The thought brought him back to Cristina's words, her voice hushed as, wrapped in his arms she'd told him her story.

_His name is Preston Burke. He was an Attending here, the chief cardio-thoracic surgeon. I was an intern. He was my boss. _

_*_

"Do you guys remember when Derek broke up with Meredith to go back to Addison, and every day at lunch people just stared at Meredith like she was in some kind of zoo exhibit?" Izzie asked, shoving a forkful of salad into her mouth as she looked around the cafeteria's patio. They were surrounded with curious faces.

"Izzie, stop," Alex said quietly, under his breath. He stole a furtive glance at Cristina before looking back down at his food.

Cristina didn't notice, hadn't seemed to hear what Izzie said. She just sat back in her chair and tested the sharpness of her plastic fork on the pad of her index finger. It didn't produce pain, only a nagging sort of discomfort. Meredith frowned and took a sip of her soda. "Cristina?" Meredith asked. Cristina looked up, her eyebrow's raised in silent question. "Are you okay?"

Cristina nodded. "Yes. Why?" She said it as if nothing was wrong in the world.

She put on a good show, but she looked a little worse for wear. Her hair was pulled back into a clip, but the effort to keep her hair out of her face was less than tidy. Her scrubs were wrinkled and, though no one wanted to bring it up, maybe had some pus from her last patient at the collar line. Under her scrubs she wore a raspberry colored long sleeved shirt, which on any other day would have made her look radiant. Today, it just enhanced the dark circles under her eyes.

"It's not the end of the world," Meredith told the others. "It's fine. Everything's fine. I mean sure, a few people are looking at us. And talking. And someone just pointed, but everything's going to be fine, people just like to talk and…point."

Meredith's voice trailed off at the look she got from Cristina. It was an eerily calm, unaffected stare. Meredith shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. She had questions. She had lots of questions. Questions like why wasn't Cristina freaking out? Why wasn't she pacing and ranting? Why wasn't she angry? She should be angry. She should be—well, she should be freaking out. And not about the key. She should be freaking out at the staring. Meredith needed her to freak out because Meredith wanted to freak out. And she couldn't be the only one freaking out, not this time.

Meredith opened her mouth to say something but when she did she noticed Alex was staring at her, his face tight like he was gritting his teeth. It was a weird look and it made her even more uncomfortable, so she sighed loudly and fell back into her chair without saying anything. And that made her mad because what did _he_ know about anything?

Everyone's attention was drawn back to Cristina when she pushed back her chair, the metal legs grating loudly against the concrete, and stood up. "I'm post-call," she said, as if that explained something. Then she walked out. Meredith opened her mouth to speak but shut it without saying a word. Izzie shoved a last mouthful of salad into her mouth and stood, too, not bothering to say goodbye to Alex or Meredith and not looking like she was following Cristina.

"What was that about?" Meredith asked Alex, who was scowling.

Alex just shrugged, then sighed. Then he shook his head and leaned back in his chair, before deciding against it and leaning forward. Meredith watched all of this with growing concern. "Alex?"

"A woman needs her friends," Alex said. Meredith squinted at him. He stared back, waiting for her to get it. But get what? "A woman needs her friends," he repeated, as if he was making perfect sense and Meredith just hadn't heard him. Meredith just stared at him, uncomprehending. "I'd like to talk to you and George, about Izzie."

*

Owen was in line at the cafeteria when he saw Cristina get up from one of the tables. The patio was full of people, and while the majority of people were eating lunch and minding their own business, unconcerned that he'd managed to publicly humiliate his Cristina, a few people were watching her openly. It ate at him to know that this was his fault. She had brought him so much happiness and all he'd been able to do was deliver the one thing she didn't want-- a public spectacle wrapped in a bright red bow and set right at her feet. He might as well pay for a singing telegram to follow her around the hospital all day. He couldn't think of a worse thing to have happened so early in their relationship.

"I hope you're proud of yourself," a voice came from behind him. It was a relief, hearing that voice. A relief to find someone willing judge him as harshly as he judged himself. Owen turned to find Dr. Bailey in line behind him.

"Good afternoon," he said, stepping over so she could stand next to him in line.

Bailey moved in next to him, her eyes never leaving his face. "There you go with that hang dog expression, thinking you're going to charm me into feeling sorry for you. Well I'll tell you right now, I'm not charmed. I'm _married_. Married people can't be charmed so easy, Dr. Hunt. Cause married people _know_ better. _I_ know better. I thought after last night you might change your mind about this stupid idea, but I can see that's not going to happen," she looked up at him, her face impassive. "You should tell the Chief."

Owen cleared his throat. "Thank you, Dr. Bailey." He paused, immediately realizing the soundness of her advice, he was embarrassed not to have thought of it sooner. Of course he should tell the Chief. He had a responsibility to do so. Clearly, precedent had been set, these things happened here. Maybe they weren't openly condoned in other residency programs, but they were condoned here. Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd. And, of couse, Cristina. Her voice sounded in his head, a soundtrack that had nagged him all day. _His name is Preston Burke. He was an Attending here, the chief cardio-thoracic surgeon. I was an intern. He was my boss. _

"I-uh-I think I will," he told Bailey.

Bailey laughed out loud, taking Owen by surprise. She shook her head, still chortling, and said, "Oh, you poor, dumb man. Gonna get yourself killed. Running around half cocked, thinking you're going to tell the Chief something about _Cristina Yang_." She shook her head again, almost wistfully. "You tell the Chief without her consent and _Cristina Yang_ will tell you something about Cristina Yang."

"You just told me--"

"I told you you _should_ tell the Chief. I didn't tell you you _could_ tell the Chief. Someone else decides whether you can tell the Chief. I'm psychic, so I can tell you the answer is 'no'." She gave him a pitying look. "Walking in here like you know what you're doing."

"You really took the whole speaking freely thing to heart. You know that permission was granted on a temporary basis," he said, and surprised himself by the tone. He spoke teasingly. He found himself completely taken by this woman, grateful that Cristina had someone looking out for her. "It doesn't extend to every conversation we have for the rest of our lives."

Bailey shrugged with only one of her shoulders. She recognized his tone, recognized he was grateful and thought better of him for it. "And what are you going to do? You're damned if you do and damned if you don't."

"So what do I do?" Owen had reached the head of the line, and handed some money to the cashier.

"You sit down with your girlfriend," Bailey said. Owen felt an unexpected, almost childish thrill at hearing Cristina referred to as his girlfriend. He pocketed his change and stood next to Bailey as she paid.

When Bailey spoke again it was with a bored tone, as if their conversation weren't the least bit important. As if she wasn't extending a lifeline, wasn't offering valuable advice. "You tell her what you think you should do. You try to convince her. Maybe you find a way to make her think it was her idea. I'm psychic so I know that won't work. But you appeal to her sense of professionalism, and hope that it trumps her sense of privacy. And in the end you do what needs to be done, even if that means keeping your mouth shut."

"He'll find out," Owen pointed out.

Bailey nodded. "She knows that. That might help. Now I'm going to eat my lunch."

"Thank you, Dr. Bailey," he said, hoping she would sense his earnestness.

She pursed her lips, eyed him warily and said, "Just in case you didn't notice, people are looking at her today, Dr. Hunt. Passing judgment on her. Wondering what _she's_ thinking. Wondering when _she'll_ break. No one seems the least bit interested in you."

"I'd prefer it the other way around," he said, knowing she intended to make him feel like he'd gotten off light. But he hadn't. It would be a thousand times easier for him if he were able to shield Cristina from this. Having to watch her go through it, feeling like the cause of it, it was the worst-case scenario.

Bailey's expression softened. "I can see that, at least."

*

Cristina's cell rang as she was rifling through books on Owen's bookshelves, waiting for him to come home. There was no rhyme or reason to the collection, he would read anything. A lot of the books had stickers from used bookstores, in Seattle and across the country, and some from around the world. Baltimore, Maryland. Washington, D.C. Germany.

Cristina moved away from the shelves and found her phone, hoping that it would be Owen. It was 7:20 and he still wasn't home, and hadn't called. But the caller ID identified Meredith. Cristina flipped open the phone. "I have biography of Lyndon B. Johnson in my hands," Cristina said, foregoing 'hello' . "Who reads biographies about Lyndon B. Johnson for fun?"

"You're at his house," Meredith said. She spoke it as a statement, relief in her voice. "Good. I was worried you would be so upset about what happened today that you would break up with him."

"The key? No, I thought about the key. I mean, I really thought about the key. It's not a big deal."

"Cristina?" Meredith asked, sounding confused. "I meant what happened at lunch."

Cristina set the book down on the kitchen counter and pulled out a glass from the cupboard, then moved the fridge. "At lunch?" She furrowed her brow in consternation. At lunch she'd been preoccupied, about the way Owen had reacted after she told him about Burke. She thought he'd be mad. Or that he'd feel insecure and become distant. Instead he handed her a key and ran off to a trauma. "What happened at lunch?"

Meredith paused. A long, suspicious pause. "I thought maybe you were upset because people were looking at you, at us. Because people know. Speaking of which you should probably tell the Chief. If he doesn't already know, I mean."

Cristina scowled. She hated the idea. "You didn't tell the Chief at first."

"Yeah, and he was all pissed and shitty about it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Cristina sighed, opening the fridge and pulling out the pitcher of water, she filled her glass. She hated the idea of it, hated that it was so much like asking permission to date Owen Hunt. Like the Chief was some pillar of professionalism and he had a right to know whether two of his surgeons were dating. And if he didn't know? What, she would lose his respect? Did she even want his respect? How many times had other people messed up and gotten slaps on the wrist. Countless times, but the minute he thought she was in the wrong about something… Making her choose another resident for the solo surgery, after for the first time every single attending picked the same resident, _her_, it was cruel and unusual. It was unprofessional, so why should she care whether he respected her? If he didn't have control over her career, she wouldn't even pretend to. But she cared if Owen had his respect.

"I am?"

The landline rang, interrupting their conversation. "His phone is ringing. What should I do?"

"Answer it?"

"I can't answer his phone," Cristina said. "I can't just answer someone else's phone. He didn't give me permission to answer his phone, it's one thing that I'm hanging out at his apartment when he's not here. But he doesn't expect I'll answer his phone while I'm here."

"Okay, let it ring."

"What if they leave a message?"

"So?"

"So then I hear his phone messages. He doesn't want me listening to his phone messages, he won't even give me a drawer. Should I go in the other room?"

When Meredith spoke next Cristina could tell she was grinning. "Ha! You _want_ a drawer. You want that key and you want a drawer."

"Shut up. I'm hanging up." She stared worriedly at the ringing phone on the wall, on it's fourth ring. Most people set their answering machines to pick up on the fourth ring.

"I would think you would appreciate having a boyfriend who didn't push you into taking keys or having drawers. It's not a bad thing to have to take the lead in a relationship, Cristina. It's not the end of the world if he waits for you to tell him what you want." Five rings. "Tell him you want a drawer. Tell him you don't want to pack a duffle bag if you're going to be spending the night." Meredith's voice brightened, "Tell him it's logistics."

Six rings. The answering machine clicked on, and she heard Owen's message. _You've reached Owen Hunt. Leave a message. _Then she heard a beep, and was surprised to hear Owen's voice again. "Cristina, It's me. I was hoping you'd be there. We said seven, right? I got stuck at the hospital but I'm leaving now. I'll try your cell."

Cristina wasn't the only one that got the message. "So he _does_ expect you to answer his phone," Meredith said.

"Whatever, it's nothing. I'm hanging up." Cristina said. And this time she did.


	12. Chapter 12: The Breakthrough

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.**

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_Author's Note:_

_Well, I'm not in love with it, but I've been staring at it too long so I'm posting it anyway. Owen and Cristina will be back soon on a new episode of Grey's Anatomy, and so this story has come to a close. And I can rest. I was planning to go out with a bang, but this story has ended on a decidedly mellow note, which I will just have to live with._

_Thank you to everyone that has reviewed along the way, I appreciate all of your comments, suggestions, thoughts and encouragement._

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Owen glanced at the dashboard clock in annoyance, thankful to finally be pulling into his parking space, less thankful that it was 7:49 and he was ridiculously late. If he'd been going home to anyone other than a surgeon, he'd probably be in hot water right now. But Cristina hadn't upset when he'd reached her on her cell phone.

He'd been grateful when he learned she was already at his apartment and hadn't stood him up. The thought of not being able to see her after the events of the day had created a knot in his stomach in the short interval between the time he left a message on his own answering machine and the time he reached her on her cell phone. She had sounded subdued, but pleased, when he finally reached her.

Owen grabbed the take out bag and climbed out of the car, moving through the underground garage to the elevators. It had been a long day but it was over, they had made it though, and he was grateful for that. But a nagging sense of dread filled him all the same, because he'd gotten lucky the last time she slept over. She hadn't noticed anything wrong. Hadn't woken up with him, witnessed him wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing.

By 7:51 he was sliding his key into the deadbolt on his door, but before he could turn it the door swung inward, taking his keys with it, and he found Cristina on the other side. She'd turned on music, one of his CDs played in the background, filling the apartment to music. She held a book in her hands. "'The Landmark Thucydides'?" she asked, a corner of her mouth turning up in a teasing smile, "Are you kidding me with this stuff?"

"That's history you're holding in your hands, there," he said, pointing at the large volume, stepping close to her and wrapping an arm around her waist, drawing her hips against his as he lowered his mouth to hers and lowered the bag of take out to the floor at their feet.

Cristina smiled against his lips. "What's for dinner?"

Owen kissed her, using the hand that wasn't already around her to cradle the back of her head as he explored her mouth, tasting her. She moved in closer, one small hand finding its way to his waist, up under his sweater she gathered up a handful of his t-shirt and held on tight. She sighed contentedly when he pulled away, looking down at her admiringly. She looked beautiful.

It was a thrill to have her meet him at the door after a long day. And while it exhilarated him, it scared him, too. Because this was just the beginning, and he was being so unfair to her. He hadn't even begun to tell her all the ways his world had been turned upside down, owed it to her to make her understand what she was getting herself into. Every second that passed between them, every intimate moment, every tender touch, was another weight on his shoulders. He hated himself for allowing it, for allowing her to get close, for cultivating their relationship, while keeping her in the dark about who he was now.

"I was feeling uninspired," he said, drawing away from her and finding his keys where they still hung from the door. Closing the door he said, "It's just pork fried rice. I rented a movie, though," he said as he closed the door and pulled off his coat. When he finished hanging his coat in the closet and turned back around, she looked quite a bit less content. She looked distracted and frustrated.

"Cristina? What is it?"

Cristina glanced up, shaking her head. "Nothing." She smiled reassuringly, "I'm good."

Owen saw that she was grappling with something big, and he was grateful to be distracted from his own issues for awhile. He was more than glad to focus on her immediate concerns. He needed the time to gather his thoughts, to think of the right words. He hadn't decided how he would tell her. He couldn't decide how to tell her yet because, if he was really honest, he didn't know what he was telling her. That he was a broken man? Or at the very least, that he wasn't the man he once was? What would that mean to Cristina, who never really knew him. Cristina, who pulled away from their first kiss and told him as much.

_I don't even know you_.

But who was this man she'd come to know?

Owen moved the food to the kitchen and returned to where she stood, taking the book from her hand and leading her to the couch. He sat first, pulling her down next to him, so that she was tucked in next to him. Cristina leaned back against his chest and rested her head against his shoulder.

"What are we doing?" she asked after a moment of silence as they both stared ahead at the dark television set. He did this sometimes, when he sensed she was feeling insecure about their relationship. Would sit her down and sit next to each other, so that when she spoke to him, she didn't have to worry about seeing his reactions, plain as day, right there on his face.

"We're talking," he answered casually as he draped an arm over her shoulder and brought his hand up to play with her hair.

"What are we talking about?" Cristina swallowed. She was starting to get nervous. She was worried about what she might say if she wasn't looking at him when she said it. Anything could slip out. She might end up telling him any number of embarrassing things. Especially with him touching her hair, because the absent-minded way he played with her hair only served to remind her how far gone she really was. But he knew that. This was a proven way to get her to admit to something she thought she wasn't ready for another person to know.

"We're talking about 'nothing'. Because it sounded like something." Owen said, leaning back into the couch, as if at any moment he might just close his eyes and take a nap. It was a trap, of course. He was just trying to make her comfortable, to grease the wheels. His posture practically screamed. _It's no big deal. See me here? I'm half asleep. Spill your guts, I won't notice._ Cristina frowned, knowing it only irritated her because it worked."If there's something, I'd like to hear about it."

Cristina inhaled and held the air in her lungs for a moment before finally breathing out. "It's just that you brought home a movie." She paused, hating herself. Owen didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue. He used silence the way he used silence. To make the speaker want to fill it. And the only reason it worked (and she knew this, which made it worse) was because she wanted to tell him. She put a hand on his knee, gripped it tightly. "It made me think that we-- that tonight we'd just be watching a movie. And we wouldn't…do other things."

This conversation had to be proof that there was no God. If there were a God certainly He would have saved her from this conversation. She was humiliating herself. And worse, she couldn't stop, because Owen wasn't saying anything. He just sat there, listening.

Uncomfortable, she found herself clearing her throat to continue. "I just thought, when you said, well it doesn't matter what you said but I thought we would...have sex. There. I said it. I wanted to have sex. It's the only thing that's been on my mind tonight. I kind of thought it would be the only thing on your mind, too. But you rented a movie. For us to watch. Instead of having sex."

Cristina couldn't tell if he was biting back a smile when Owen spoke next, but she would have bet money that he was. "That was something. Is there anything else you've been thinking about?" he asked, his voice husky and soothing.

Cristina swallowed. She didn't know how to answer that, because there were a million things she was thinking about, had been thinking about. She wondered where their relationship was going. She wondered how many times per day he commanded himself to stop thinking about her (because she was up to at least fifteen times by 10 am, and that was a very conservative estimate because she got so depressed she stopped counting). She wondered whether he even had to command himself to stop thinking about her, or if he had to remind himself to do the opposite. And she wondered when it was she fell so hard.

"I was thinking that you shouldn't keep the spare key with your other key. That defeats the purpose of having a spare. If you lose your keys you lose both."

Owen kissed the top of her head, still playing with her hair. "So you want sex, and you want the key you didn't want this morning."

"No, I didn't say—" Crisitna stopped in the middle of the denial, remembering Meredith's words. Why it was she decided to take Meredith's advice about relationships, she didn't know. "Yes," she said bitterly, still angry at herself. "And a drawer."

Owen kissed her temple. "A drawer?"

"A drawer. For my clothes."

Owen nodded. "You know, I've seen your room, are you sure you don't just want some space on the floor?"

"Dammit!" Cristina snapped, pulling away from him. She hauled her body away from his and spun around to face him. "You think this is funny," she said when she turned to find him smiling. "This is so hard-- I am trying _so hard_ and you think this is _funny_."

Owen sat up quickly and reached for her. She tried to stand up, to get away, but he grabbed her arms first before she could. He held her, made her meet his eyes. "I don't. Cristina, that was a bad joke, I'm sorry. I was trying to make it easier. I was trying to make you more comfortable." He paused, gauging her reaction. "I'm sorry." He searched her eyes with his, looking for some evidence that she understood. "Please. I just need you to keep talking to me."

Cristina felt herself softening, albeit grudgingly. It was edge to his voice that did it, the tenseness that bordered on pleading. The desperation of it matched the regret filled look in those blue eyes.

"I'm glad you're keeping the key," he assured her, freeing her arm and cupping her cheek in his hand. "I just didn't expect it, after this morning. What made you change your mind?"

Cristina didn't answer at first. She paused, and watched his face, looking for clues on how he greet what she was thinking about saying. "I talked it over with Meredith a little." Cristina finally said. She relaxed and started to turn to resume her place on the couch next to Owen, but found herself being pulled onto his lap, into his arms. He folded his arms around her protectively, rested his chin on her head as she rested against his chest. She paused for a long time before deciding to continue, her voice hesitant, her shield up. "Meredith is a little afraid of all this. That we're moving forward so quickly." She paused, feeling silly for the statement, now. Sometimes it didn't feel like they were moving quickly at all. "She's worried that I'm taking on more than I can handle."

Owen tightened his arms around her, realizing what was happening. She was hiding behind her friend, but she was hiding right out in the open, daring him to look at her. "Is 'Meredith' worried about anything else?"

Cristina bit her lip and nodded, her face moving against his chest as she did this. "She's afraid that I'll lose myself again, trying to make someone else happy. She's afraid I'll change, in order to be a better gi—" she paused here. She had almost choked on the word, as if she hadn't meant to use it, but she continued anyway. "In order to be a better girlfriend. In order to be more like the person should be with."

Owen waited a beat, then said, "And she doesn't want you to change."

"It's not the changing that she's so afraid of."

"Then what is she afraid of?"

Cristina sat up, looked him directly in the eye and said, "She's afraid you'll leave, and I'll be alone, but I'll be so different she won't recognize me anymore." Her voice shook when she said it, though she tried to hide it by lowering her voice into a whisper toward the end. The honesty of her words, the raw pain attached to them, broke his heart. Her falsely attributing the fear to Meredith didn't lessen their impact, or make him think less of her for being unable to take ownership of the feelings out loud. She owned the feelings, without question. This fear was bought and paid for and belonged wholeheartedly to Cristina.

Owen ached to comfort her, but wanted to hear more, wanted to know what barriers he would have to break through to get to her. "Does Meredith think I'm going to leave?"

"She's just trying to be prepared, to think ahead to what might happen. Anything could happen. She's just… afraid." Cristina looked at him pleadingly. "Is Derek afraid?"

Owen made a quick decision to go with it, because it seemed to free her into admitting a fear she would otherwise have kept from him. He nodded. "He's terrified. He's worried that I've gotten in over my head. He knows that I have a lot going on. I'm having trouble sleeping, having trouble readjusting to everything. He's worried because you haven't seen that yet struggle yet-- not really. And he just has to hope at this point that once you do, you won't run in the other direction. He _really_ hopes you won't run away, actually, because he thinks I'm head over heels in love with you."

The game, having served its purpose, was abandoned. Cristina sat up, looking at him. "Owen?"

"Yes?"

"Is that what you think?" There was only one way to interpret the question. _Do you love me?_

"I don't think it, Cristina. I know I'm in love with you. And I'm not going anywhere."

He looked at her for her reaction, and watched a smile creep onto her face. It was a satisfied smirk, really, not the type of smile you'd expect on a woman who'd just been told what he admitted to her. But that satisfied smirk only made him want her more. Owen leaned forward, snaking his arms around her and pulling her in close as he lowered his mouth over hers.

"Owen, I-" her words came out breathy, and light. He stopped her with a kiss. "Mm," Owen groaned against her mouth, then kissed his way along the line of her jaw to just below her ear, where he stopped to whisper, "Just so we're clear, Meredith isn't really--"

"No," Crisitna interrupted, falling against him. She let herself lean on him, allowed herself to enjoy the support of his sturdy frame.

Owen's hands moved up under her shirt, cool against the warm skin of her back. She nestled further into him, their bodies pressed together as he worked at getting her sweater off. He managed to get three buttons undone before abandoning the effort finally and pulling the sweater over her head to reveal a thin white camisole.

"I wasn't expecting so many layers," he said, untucking the camisole from her pants and pulling this off, too, to reveal her lacey white bra. He left this on, laying her back onto the couch, the wool of his sweater scratching at her bare skin as he nestled in on top of her. The cool leather of the couch was a shock against her back, but it was soon forgotten. Owen pulled his own sweater off, and his t-shirt soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

"We should move this to the bedroom," he said when she reached between them and started unbuckling his belt.

Cristina shook her head. "No." She slid her hand inside his pants she wrapped her fingers around him. Owen's breath caught, and he closed his eyes at the rush of pleasure her touch brought and a low moan escaped his throat. "You can have your cushy bed later. I want you here. Now." She pulled him down for a kiss. "Quick." She said, a slow smile turning up one corner of her mouth. "And dirty."

_EPILOGUE_

_A cold wind blew across the beach, and while there were a few people walking up and down the shore, they might has well have been alone. Cristina ran ahead of him, more carefree than he'd seen her all weekend. They had gone to Beverly Hills to share the news with her mother, who was horrified. They had been prepared for that, though. He couldn't apologize to her mother for wanting what they wanted, but he recognized that getting married at the Seattle courthouse with only Derek and Meredith in attendance was bound to make all parents involved upset. _

"_This is our wedding, Owen," Christina had told him more than once, a fierce protectiveness of the event in her voice as she said the words. "Yours and mine. No one else's." _

_And he agreed, and was grateful for it. Because there was nothing more beautiful than Cristina on her wedding day, in a simple white knee-length dress and her hair down, curls blanketing her shoulders, dancing around her face. It was one of only two things he had insisted on, that she not put her hair up._

_But the weekend with her mother, the first two days of their honeymoon, were an ill-planned event. They should have planned the week in La Jolla first, and dropped in and told her mother on the way back to Seattle. But they hadn't, they'd gone there first, and after the first 15 minutes of yelling, he began to think that for sure that their honeymoon would be ruined. No honeymoon could recover from a scene the size of the one her mother put on._

_Which was not to say Cristina's mother and step-father weren't happy for them. They had expected something big would be coming. They had known that after over a year together and their recent cohabitation that the only other move forward was a wedding, but they had expected, if not an invite, then at the very least advance notice. It had made for a tense couple of days. _

_But in the end, Cristina's mother had doted on Owen. She had given in after six hours and asked to see the wedding photo. They had made her a copy, and a frame was immediately located. There was nothing in the house to hang it with so Owen and Cristina's step dad had been sent to the hardware store to find a picture hook. The picture was hung prominently in the house. Neighbors were invited over to see it, and relatives were called._

_And now they were alone again, newlyweds at Torrey Pines's state beach, walking barefoot in the December waves and freezing their asses off. Cristina had wandered inland, toward the cliffs, and was yelling to him to hurry up. She looked radiant, her hair blowing everywhere, and he thought back to the day she gave away the solo-surgery and allowed him to be the one to comfort her. He waved just as his feet got bath in the frigid water._

_Cristina smiled and waved back, and he thought he heard her yell, "Come on!" before she turned and ran out of site, on the other side of one of the cliffs._

_Owen took off at a jog, following her. When he passed the cliff where she disappeared he stopped and shielded his eyes from the sun, searching for her. It took him awhile to find her, but she had stopped just next to a cliff face. She held her phone in her hand. Owen shook his head and smiled, thinking that she must be texting Meredith again. When he had insisted on the second thing, that during their honeymoon there would be no calling Meredith, he had forgotten to include texting as a banned activity. But to his surprise, his own cell phone gave a chirp, alerting him to an incoming message. He looked at the display, which read, "Mr. Hunt, Come warm me up. Love, Mrs. Hunt."_

_He heard the loud crack only a split second before he saw the slide start, a large portion of the cliff face breaking off, right above her. She didn't have time to react, to even look up. "Cristina!" he shouted, to no avail. Owen watched as a shower of rocks and dust fell down on her._

_Owen broke into a run, but it seemed to take minutes just to get to the spot where she'd been standing. His whole body trembled and he fell to the ground near the pile of rocks, a much smaller pile than he would have expected, and he didn't understand how he couldn't see at least part of her, an arm or a leg, peeking out. _

_Panic overcame him, holding back the grief. The first few rocks were the hardest to move. They were heavy and stuck, and he scraped his knuckles just trying to pry them loss._

_Owen couldn't understand why no one came to help him. But he kept moving, rock after rock, knowing that while her chances or survival were in the range of slim to none, if she had drawn the 'slim' card it would be for nothing if she suffocated under the rubble._

_He didn't realize he'd been yelling her name, over and over, until he went hoarse and could no longer speak. His knuckles bled onto the rocks and sand, staining the ground. He found her cell phone, an unfair taunt, but that was all. Each minute that passed was more excruciating than the last, but it was no relief when he moved away one of the last rocks and found only a bed of sand. There was nothing underneath the rubble. No blood. No body. No Cristina._

_She was gone._

Owen's eyes flew open. His breath came in short, ragged breaths and it took him a few moments to recognize his surroundings. He was in his bedroom. He was in his bed. He was beside Cristina. His digital alarm clock read 12:42 am. They had collapsed in exhaustion, sweaty and spent, less than an hour ago.

The light from a nearby streetlight came through the window, illuminating some of the room. He could see that she was awake, and watching him from under heavy lidded eyes. Perfectly still, she took in everything about his appearance. The heavy breathing. The sweat glistening on his skin. He wouldn't be surprised if she could hear his heart, it was beating so loudly in his own ears. Owen closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He knew he should say something, should explain.

He turned his head to look at her, found that she was still watching him, silent. He hadn't told her about the nightmares. He should have told her about the nightmares. Usually the nightmares were of the ambush, but lately he found his subconscious seemed to be systematically identifying each of the many ways he could lose her.

He opened his mouth to explain, to apologize. He wanted to ask her how long she'd been awake, and watching, ask her how much she'd seen. He wanted to tell her if it was all too much to take, and she wanted out, that he would understand. And he wanted to tell her he was willing to do anything to make it right, to make her stay, even if it meant going to see a professional.

Before he could say any of it, Cristina reached out and took his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his, silencing him with a simple gesture of comfort and acceptance. Moment before he had wanted to tell her that he was sorry. Sorry that he'd been late coming home. Sorry that he'd forgotten about dinner, which was still probably sitting on the floor in his entryway. Sorry that he was weak. Sorry that he was damaged. Her touch had cleared all of it away, had reassured him in a way he knew words never could.

When she did speak, her voice was clear and steady. "I love you," she said. Owen breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled.

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_Thank you again. Reviews are appreciated._


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